UNWISEMAN 


y- 


V 


"Simple  enough;  I've  stopped  the  clock,"  he  said.— Page  132.— Frontispiece. 


COPYRIGHT,  1902, 
BY    HENRY  T.    COATES  &  CO. 


Published  November,  1902. 


Children's  Library. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.       BOPEEP.      IN    WHICH    MOLLIE   MEETS   THE  UNWISEMAN         7 

II.     A  VISIT  TO  THE  UNWISEMAN.      IN  WHICH   MOLLIE 

RENEWS  AN  ACQUAINTANCE         .        .         .         .29 

III.  IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE   UNWISEMAN.      IN   WHICH 

MOLLIE  READS  SOME  STRANGE  RULES        .         .     49 

IV.  A  CALL  FROM  THE  UNWISEMAN.     IN  WHICH  MOLLIE' s 

CALL  is  RETURNED     .         .         .         .     ,  .         -67 

V.     THE  UNWISEMAN  is  OFFENDED.    IN  WHICH  THE  OLD 

GENTLEMAN  TAKES  HIS  LEAVE    .         .         .         .85 

VI.  THE  CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF  THE  UNWISEMAN.  IN 
WHICH  THE  UNWISEMAN  GOES  INTO  AN  UNPROF- 
ITABLE BUSINESS 103 

VII.  THE  UNWISEMAN'S  NEW  YEAR'S  RESOLUTIONS.  IN 
WHICH  THE  UNWISEMAN  GIVES  UP  SOME  VERY 
DISTINGUISHED  WORDS  .  .  .  .  .123 

VIII.     THE    UNWISEMAN     TURNS    POET.      IN    WHICH     THE 

UNWISEMAN  GOES  INTO  LITERATURE  .         .         .139 

IX.     THE  POEMS  OF  THE  UNWISEMAN.     IN  WHICH  MOLLIE 

LISTENS  TO  SOME  REMARKABLE  VERSES     .         -155 

X.  THE  UNWISEMAN'S  LUNCHEON.  IN  WHICH  THE  UN- 
WISEMAN  MAKES  SOME  'SENSIBLE  REMARKS  ON 
EATING  .  \.  .  .  .  .  .173 

XI.  THE  UNWISEMAN'S  NEW  BUSINESS.  IN  WHICH  THE 
OLD  GENTLEMAN  AND  MOLLIE  AND  WHISTLE- 
BINKIE  START  ON  THEIR  TRAVELS  .  .  .189 


2041823 


LIST  OF  FULL-PAGE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PACK 

'•SIMPLE  ENOUGH,  I'VE  STOPPED  THE  CLOCK."  Frontispiece 

THE  UNWISEMAN  SPED   OFF   LIKE   LIGHTNING  TO  THE  VIL- 
LAGE DRUG-STORE  .......     46 

"OH   YES!"     SAID     MOLLIE,     "  IF     YOU     MUST     STEAL    SOME- 
THING, STEAL  A  BOYLED  EGG"      .....     66 

"No,    THANK     You,"    SAID    THE   UNWISEMAN,    WITH     AN 
ANXIOUS  PEEP  AT  THE  CEILING 76 

"Oucn!"   HE  CRIED,  "THE  BROOK  MUST  BE  AFIRE!"       .     98 
"I  ALWAYS  WEEP  OUT  OF  THE  WINDOW."  .        .         .146 

THE  UNWISEMAN  READS  HIS   POEM,   "MY  WISH  AND  WHY 

I  WISHED  IT."       .         .         .        .  .        .         .   162 

"  IF  You  WANT  TO    SPEAK    SOME   OTHER    LANGUAGE  YOU 
CAN  GO  OUTSIDE  AND  SPEAK  IT."        .        .        .        .184 


had  been 
romping  in^ 

the  hay  all  the  afternoon.  With  her 
were  Flaxilocks,  the  French  doll,  and  young 
Whistlebinkie,  the  rubber  boy,  who  had  got 
his  name  from  the  fact  that  he  had  a  whistle 
set  in  the  top  of  his  beaver  hat.  Flaxilocks 
and  Whistlebinkie  could  stand  a  great  deal 
of  romping,  and  so  also  could  Mollie,  but, 
on  the  whole,  the  little  girl  wras  not  so 
strong  as  the  dolls  were,  and  in  consequence 

7 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEM AN. 


along  above  five  o'clock,  having  settled  her- 
self down  comfortably  on  the  shaded  side  of 
the  haystack,  a  great  pillow  of  sweet-scented 
clover  grass  under  her  head,  it  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  Mollie  should  begin  to 
ponder.  Now  it  is  a  curious  thing,  but 
Mollie  always  has  singular  adventures  when 
she  ponders.  Things  happen  to  her  then 
which  happen  at  no  other  times,  and  which 
also,  as  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  find  out, 
never  happen  to  other  little  girls. 

It  was  this  way  upon  this  particular  after- 
noon, as  you  will  see  when  you  read  on. 
She  had  been  pondering  for  three  or  four 
minutes  when  almost  directly  at  her  side  she 
heard  a  sob. 

"Who's  that?"  she  asked,  sleepily,  gazing 
around  her. 

"Who's  what?"  said  Flaxilocks,  sitting 
up  and  opening  her  great  blue  eyes  so  sud- 
denly that  something  inside  of  her  head 
seemed  to  click. 


BOPEEP. 


"  Somebody's  sobbing,"  said  Mollie. 


"Somebody's  sobbing,"  said  Mollie. 

"  I  guess  not,"  returned  Flaxilocks.     "'We 
are   all    alone    here.      Nobody   could    have 

9 


MOLLIE   AND    THE   UNWISEMAN. 

sobbed  unless  it  was  Whistlebinkie.  Whis- 
tlebinkie, did  you  sob?" 

"  No,"  said  Whistlebinkie,  "  'twasn't  me. 
I  can't  sob  because  I  haven't  got  a  sobber  to 
sob  with.  I've  only  got  a  whistle." 

"  Maybe  I  dreamed  it,"  said  Mollie,  ap- 
parently satisfied  for  the  moment,  and  then 
the  three  threw  themselves  back  on  the 
hay  once  more  and  began  their  pondering 
anew. 

They  did  not  ponder  very  long,  however, 
for  in  a  few  moments  Flaxilocks  rose  up 
again  and  observed : 

"  I  heard  a  sob  myself  just  now,  Mollie." 

"So-;//,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie,  through 
the  top  of  his  hat. 

"Whistlebinkie,"  said  Mollie,  severely, 
"  how  often  must  I  tell  you  not  to  talk 
through  your  hat,  but  through  your  mouth  ? 
So-^//  doesn't  mean  anything.  It  isn't  Eng- 
lish. If  you  will  only  remember  to  use 

your  hat  to  whistle  through  and  your  mouth 

10 


BOPEEP. 

for  conversation   every  one  will  be  able    to 
understand.    What  do  you  mean  by  So-dV?" 

"So — did — I,"  said  Whistlebinkie,  meekly, 
this  time  using  his  mouth  as  Mollie  had  in- 
structed him  to  do. 

"  Then  you  heard  the  sob  ?" 

"  Yes — ma'am — plain — as — can— be,"  re- 
turned Whistlebinkie. 

"  And  no  wonder,"  observed  Flaxilocks, 
pointing  one  of  her  kid  fingers  off  to  her 
left.  "  Why  shouldn't  we  all  hear  a  sob 
when  there  is  a  poor  little  maid  weeping  so 
near  at  hand  ?" 

"  So  there  is,"  said  Mollie,  looking  toward 
the  spot  at  which  Flaxilocks  was  pointing, 
where  there  sat  a  pretty  little  shepherdess 
with  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks. 
"  Isn't  it  queer?" 

"  Very,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  Shall  I  give 
a  whistle  of  surprise,  ma'am  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mollie.  "  I'm  not  surprised 
enough  for  that." 

ii 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


Then  she  got  up  and  walked  over  to  the 
strange  little  girl's  side,  and  taking  her  hand 
in  hers  asked  her  softly  why  she  wept. 

"  I'm  little  Bopeep,"  said  the  stranger. 
"And  I've  lost  my  sheep,  and  I  don't  know 
where  to  find  them." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  Isn't  it  enough  ?"  returned  Bopeep,  gaz- 
ing with  surprise  at  Mollie  through  her 
tears.  "  They  were  all  spring  lambs  and 
I'm  very  much  afraid  some  hungry  man 
may  have  stolen  them  away  and  drowned 
them  in  the  mint  sauce  pond." 

"  Dear  me,  how  dreadful !"  cried  Mollie. 

"  Shall  I  give  a  whistle  of  terror,  ma'am  ?" 
asked  Whistlebinkie. 

"No,  don't,"  said  Flaxilocks.  "  Save  your 
breath.  We  ought  to  help  Bopeep  to  find 
her  flock." 

"That's  so,"  said  Mollie.  "Would  you 
like  to  have  us  do  that,  Bopeep  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  would  be  very  sweet  of  you  if  you 


12 


BOPEEP. 


would,"  sobbed  the  little   shepherdess.     "  I 
can't  tell  you  how  glad  I'd  be." 

"  I'll  whistle  it  for  you  if  you  want  me  to," 
said   the    obliging   Whistlebinkie,  which,  as 


I'll  whistle  it  for  you." 


no  one  objected,  he  immediately  proceeded 
to  do.  When  he  had  finished  Bopeep 
thanked  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  were  any 

13 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

relation  to  her  old  friend  Flutiboy  who  was 
the  only  person  she  knew  who  could  whistle 
as  charmingly  as  he,  which  pleased  Whistle- 
binkie  very  much  because  he  had  heard  of 
the  famous  Flutiboy,  and  was  well  aware 
that  he  was  the  champion  whistler  of  the 
world. 

"  Now  let  us  be  off  to  find  the  sheep,"  said 
Mollie.  "  Which  way  did  they  go,  Bopeep  ?" 

"  They  went  every  way,"  said  Bopeep,  her 
eyes  filling  with  tears  again. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  could  be,"  said 
Flaxilocks,  "  unless  one  quarter  of  lamb 
went  one  way,  and  another  another,  and 
so  on." 

"  Oh,  it  was  easy  enough  for  them,"  said 
Bopeep.  "  There  were  four  of  them,  and 
one  went  north,  one  south,  one  east,  and 
one  west  If  they  had  all  run  off  together 
I  could  have  run  away  with  them,  but  as  it 
was  all  I  could  do  was  stand  still  and  let 
them  go.  I  love  them  all  equally,  and  since 

'4 


BOPEEP. 

I  couldn't  favor  any  special  one,  or  divide 
myself  up  into  four  parts,-!  had  to  let  them 

go-" 

"  Perflyawfle,"       whistled      Whistlebinkie 

through   his    hat. 

"  Whistlebinkie  1"  cried  Mollie,  reprov- 
ingly. 

"Puf-fick-ly  or-full,"  said  Whistlebinkie 
distinctly  through  his  little  red  rubber  teeth. 

"  Well,  I  say  we  keep  together  in  looking 
for  them,  anyhow,"  said  Flaxilocks.  "  Be- 
cause it's  bad  enough  to  lose  the  sheep 
without  losing  ourselves,  and  it  seems  to 
me  there  being  four  of  us  we  can  find  the 
first  sheep  four  times  as  quickly  if  we  stick 
together  as  we  could  if  we  went  alone ;  and 
that  of  course  means  that  we'll  find  the  four 
sheep  sixteen  times  as  quickly  as  we  would 
if  we  went  alone." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  that,"  said  Bopeep. 

"  It's  plain  enough,"  observed  Flaxilocks. 
"  Four  times  four  is  sixteen." 

15 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Bopeep.     "  I  see." 

"  Sodwi,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie.  "  I 
mean  so — do — I,"  he  added  quickly,  as  he 
noted  Mollie's  frown. 

So  the  four  little  folk  started  off  in  search 
of  the  missing  sheep,  Whistlebinkie  and 
Flaxilocks  running  on  ahead,  and  Mollie 
and  Bopeep  with  their  arms  lovingly  about 
each  other  bringing  up  in  the  rear. 

"  Did  you  ever  lose  the  sheep  before,  Bo- 
peep ?"  asked  Mollie,  after  they  had  walked 
a  little  way  in  silence. 

"  Oh  my,  yes,"  returned  Bopeep.  "  I'm 
losing  them  all  the  time.  It  is  a  part  of  my 
duty  to  lose  them.  If  I  didn't,  you  know, 
the  nursery  rhyme  couldn't  go  on." 

"  And  you  always  find  them  again  ?"  Mol- 
lie put  in. 

"  Always.  That's  got  to  happen,  too.  If 
they  didn't  come  back  and  bring  their  tails 
behind  them  the  nursery  rhyme  would  be 

spoiled  again." 

16 


BOPEEP. 


"  Then  I  don't  see  why  you  feel  so  badly 
about  it,"  said  Mollie. 

"  I    have  to,"  replied 
Bopeep.      "  That's  part 
of    my    business,    too. 
I  sometimes    wish   old 
Mother    Goose    hadn't 
employed    me   to    look 
after   the   sheep   at  all, 
because     it    keeps    me 
crying  all  the  time,  and 
I  don't 
find 
crying 
very 
pleas  - 
ant. 
Why, 
do  you 
know,  I 

a  quart." 

been  in  this  sheep-losing  business  for  nearly 
2  17 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


two  hundred  years  now,  and  I've  cried 
about  seventy  gallons  of  tears  every  year. 
Just  think  of  that.  That  means  fourteen 
thousand  gallons  of  tears,  and  I  only  get 
five  cents  a  quart,  which  doesn't  more  than 
pay  my  dressmaker's  bills.  I  asked  my 
employers  some  years  ago  to  let  me  have 
an  assistant  to  do  the  crying  for  me,  but 
they  wouldn't  do  it,  which  I  think  was  very 
mean,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Mollie.  "  I  should  think 
just  losing  the  sheep  was  hard  enough  work 
for  a  little  girl  like  you  to  attend  to." 

"  That's  what  I  think — but  dear  me,  where 
are  Whistlebinkie  and  Flaxilocks  going?" 
said  Bopeep.  "  They  mustn't  go  that  way. 
The  first  place  we  must  go  to  is  the  home 
of  the  Unwiseman." 

"  The  what  ?"  demanded  Mollie. 

"The  Unwiseman.  He's  an  unwiseman 
who  doesn't  know  anything,"  explained  Bo- 
peep.  "  The  rules  require  that  we  go  to  him 

18 


BOPEEP. 

first  and  ask  him  if  he  knows  where  the 
sheep  are.  He'll  say  he  doesn't  know,  and 
then  we'll  go  on  to  the  little  old  woman 
who  lives  under  the  hill.  She'll  know 
where  they  are,  but  she'll  tell  us  wrong. 
Hi!  Whistlebinkie  and  Flaxilocks !  Turn 
off  to  the  left,  and  stop  at  that  little  red 
house  under  the  oak  tree." 

"  There  isn't  any  little  red  house  under 
the  oak  tree,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  said  Bopeep.  "  Only 
you've  got  to  know  it's  there  before  you  can 
see  it.  The  Unwiseman  lives  there." 

Whistlebinkie  and  Flaxilocks  did  as  they 
were  told,  and,  sure  enough,  in  a  minute 
there  appeared  a  little  red  house  under  the 
oak  tree  just  as  Bopeep  had  said.  Mollie 
was  delighted,  it  was  such  a  dainty  little 
house,  with  its  funny  gables  and  a  roof 
made  of  strawberry  icing.  The  window- 
panes  were  shining  like  silver,  and  if  Bo- 
peep was  not  mistaken  were  made  of  sugar. 

19 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


But  funnier  still  was  the  Unwiseman  him- 
self, a  queer-looking,  wrinkled-up  little  old 
man  who  sat  in  the  doorway  trying  to  smoke 
a  pipe  filled  with  soapsuds. 

"  Good-afternoon,  O  Unwiseman,"  said 
Bopeep. 

"  Hoh  !"  sneered  the  Unwiseman.  "  Good- 
afternoon  !  This  isn't  afternoon.  It's  day 
before  yesterday  morning." 

Mollie  giggled. 

"  Hush !"  whispered  Bopeep.  "  He  doesn't 
know  any  better.  You  can  see  that  he 
doesn't  know  anything  by  looking  at  his 
pipe.  He's  been  trying  to  smoke  those 
soapsuds  no\v  for  a  week.  The  week  before 
he  was  trying  to  blow  bubbles  with  it,  only  he 
had  corn-silk  in  it  then  instead  of  soapsuds. 
That  shows  what  kind  of  a  man  he  is." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  to-day,  Bopeep  ?" 
asked  the  Unwiseman  as  he  touched  a 
lighted  match  to  the  suds,  which  imme- 
diately sputtered  and  went  out. 


20 


BOPEEP. 


"  I  wanted 
you     had 
thing    of 
said    Bo  - 
"Let's 
the  Unwise- 
see.; 
what?  | 
anything  \ 


to  know  if 
seen  any- 
my  sheep," 
peep. 

see,"     said 
man.  "Let's 
Sheep    are 
They  aren't 
like      tele- 
graph 
poles 


Sat  in  the  doorway  trying  to  smoke  a  pipe 
filled  with  soapsuds. 

or  wheelbarrows,  are  they  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Bopeep,  "  they  are  not." 
"  Then  maybe  I  have  seen  them,"  said  the 
Unwiseman,  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction. 
"  Maybe  I  have.  Several  things  went  by 
here  day  after  to-morrow  that  weren't  a  bit 
like  wheelbarrows  or  telegraph  poles.  They 


21 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

may  have  been  your  sheep.  One  of  the 
things  had  four  red  wheels  on  it — have  any 
of  your  sheep  got  four  red  wheels  on  them  ?" 


"They  aren't  anything  like  telegraph  poles  or  wheelbarrows,  are  they?" 

Whistlebinkie  nearly  exploded  as  the  Un- 
wiseman  said  this,  but  the  queer  old  gentle- 
man was  not  learned  enough  to  know  mirth 
when  he  saw  it,  so  that  no  harm  was  done. 

22 


BOPEEP. 

"  No,"  said  Bopeep.  "  My  sheep  had  no 
wheels." 

"  Then  I  must  have  seen  them,"  said  the 
Unwiseman.  "There  was  a  thing  went  by 
here  a  week  from  next  Tuesday  noon  that 
hadn't  any  wheels.  It  had  two  legs  and 
carried  a  fan,  or  a  fish-pole — I  couldn't  tell 
which  it  was — and  it  was  whistling.  Maybe 
that  was  one  of  the  sheep." 

"  No,"  said  Bopeep  again,  shaking  her 
head.  "  My  sheep  don't  whistle  and  they 
have  four  legs." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  with  a 
wink.  "You  can't  fool  me  that  way.  I 
know  a  horse  when  I  hear  one  described, 
and  when  any  one  tells  me  that  the  thing 
with  four  legs  and  no  whistle  is  a  sheep  I 
know  better.  And  so  my  dear,  since  you've 
tried  to  trifle  with  me  you  can  go  along.  I 
won't  tell  you  another  thing  about  your  old 
sheep.  I  don't  know  anything  about  'em 
anyhow." 

23 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNVVISEMAN. 


Whereupon  the  old  man  got  up  from  his 
chair  and  climbed  the  oak  tree  to  look  for 
apples,  while  the  searching  party 
went  on  to  the  little  old  woman 

^        yO-rvV^N  wno  ^ve<^  unc^er  the 

*  hill,      and       Bopeep 
asked     her     if     she 
knew 


anything  about  the 
sheep. 

"Yes,"  said  the 
little  old  woman, 
with  a  frown  which 
frightened  poor 
Whistlebinkie  so 

that  he  gasped    and         «.  One  of  'em's  gone  to  the  moon." 

whistled     softly    in 

spite  of  his  efforts    to   keep   quiet      "  Yes, 

24 


BOPEEP. 

I've  seen  your  sheep.  I  know  just  where 
they  are,  too.  One  of  'em's  gone  to  the 
moon.  Another  has  been  adopted  by  a 
girl  named  Mary,  who  is  going  to  take  it 
to  school  and  make  the  children  laugh. 
Another  has  sold  his  wool  to  a  city  mer- 
chant, and  the  fourth  has  accepted  an  invi- 
tation to  dinner  from  a  member  of  Con- 
gress. He  will  reach  the  dinner  at  half-past 
seven  to-night  on  a  silver  platter.  He  will 
be  decorated  with  green  peas  and  mint 
sauce.  Now  get  along  with  you." 

Mollie  felt  very  sorry  for  poor  Bopeep  as 
she  listened  to  this  dreadful  statement,  and 
she  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  Bopeep 
smiling  through  it  all. 

"  Why  did  you  smile  ?"  she  asked  the  little 
shepherdess  as  they  wended  their  way  home 
again. 

"  Because  I  knew  from  what  she  said  that 
she  knew  the  sheep  were  safe — but  she  lives 
on  ink,  and  that  makes  her  disagreeable. 

25 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


She  just  wanted  to  make  me  feel  as  dis- 
agreeable as  she  does,  and  she  told  me 
all  that  nonsense  to  accomplish  that  pur- 
pose." 

"The  horrid  thing!"  said  Mollie. 

"No,"  said  Bo- 
peep.     "  She   isn't 
really  horrid.     It's 
only  because   she 
lives  on    ink   that 
she  seems 
so.    Sup- 
pose you 
had       to 
live       on 
ink  ?" 

"I'd 

be  horrid,  too," 
said  Mollie. 

"  There  they  are !"  cried  Bopeep  joyfully, 
and  sure  enough  there  were  the  sheep,  and 

they  had  brought   their  tails   behind    them, 

26 


"  She  lives  on  ink  and  it  makes  her 
disagreeable." 


BOPEEP: 

too.  They  were  grazing  close  beside  the 
hay-stack  on  which  Mollie  had  been  pon- 
dering. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
help  and  company,"  said  Bopeep,  "  and  now 
as  it  is  six  o'clock,  I  must  drive  my  sheep 
home.  Good-by." 

"  Good-by,"  said  Mollie,  kissing  the  little 
shepherdess  affectionately. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Flaxilocks,  sinking  back 
on  the  clover  pillow,  and  closing  her  great 
blue  eyes  again. 

"Gubby,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie  through 
his  hat. 

"Wasn't  it  queer?"  said  Mollie  later  as 
they  wended  their  way  home  again. 

"  Very,"  said  Flaxilocks. 

"  Queeresperiensieverad,"  whistled  Whis- 
tlebinkie. 

"What's  that?"  cried  Mollie. 

"Queerest — experience  — I — ever — had," 

said  Whistlebinkie. 

27 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mollie.  "  I  didn't  care  much 
for  the  little  old  woman  under  the  hill,  but 
that  funny  old  Unwiseman — I'd  like  to  meet 
him  again." 

And  the  others  agreed  that  it  would 
indeed  be  pleasant  to  do  so. 


28 


said  Mollie,  one  after- 
noon, as  she  and  he  were  swaying  gently  to 
and  fro  in  the  hammock,  "  do  you  remember 
the  little  red  house  under  the  oak  tree  ?" 

"  Yessum,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie,  "  I 
mean  yes — ma'am,"  he  added  hurriedly. 

"  And  the  Unwiseman  who  lived  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  him  puffickly,"  said 
Whistlebinkie.  "  I  think  he  knows  less  than 
any  person  I  ever  sawed." 

"  Not  sawed  but  saw,  Whistlebinkie,"  said 

29 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNVVISEMAN. 

Mollie,  who  was  very  anxious  that  her  rub- 
ber doll  should  speak  correctly. 

"  Oh,  yes !"  cried  Whistlebinkie.  "  I  think 
he  sawed  less  than  any  man  I  ever  knew — 
or  rather — well — I  guess  you  know  what  I 
mean,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Mollie,  with  a  smile. 
"  But  tell  me,  Whistlebinkie  dear,  wouldn't 
you  like  to  go  with  me,  and  pay  the  Unwise- 
man  a  visit  ?" 

"  Has  he  sent  you  a  bill  ?"  asked  Whistle- 
binkie. 

"  What  for,  pray  ?"  queried  Mollie,  with  a 
glance  of  surprise  at  Whistlebinkie. 

"To  tell  you  that  you  owed  him  a  visit, 
of  course,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  There  isn't 
any  use  of  our  paying  him  anything  unless 
we  owe  him  something,  is  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  see  !"  said  Mollie.  "  No,  we  don't 
owe  him  one,  but  I  think  we'd  enjoy  our- 
selves very  much  if  we  made  him  one." 

"All  right,  let's,"  said  Whistlebinkie. 

30 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"What'll  we  make  it  of,  worsted   or  paste- 
board ?" 

"  Whistlebinkie,"  observed  Mollie,  severely, 
"you  are  almost  as  absurd  as  the  old  man 
himself.  The  idea  of  making  a  visit  out  of 
worsted  or  paste- 
board!  Come 
along.  Stop  your 
joking  and  let  us 
start." 

The  rubber  doll 
was  quite  willing 
to  agree  to  this,  and 
off  they  started.  In  a  very  little  while  they 
were  down  under  the  spreading  branches 
of  the  great  oak  tree,  but,  singular  to  relate, 
the  little  red  house  that  had  stood  there  the 
last  time  they  had  called  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Mollie,  "what  can  have 
become  of  it,  do  you  suppose,  Whistle- 
binkie ?" 

"  I    give    it    up,"    said    the   rubber   doll, 


A  pasteboard  visit. 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


scratching  his  hat  so  that  he  could  think 
more  easily.  "  Haven't  an  idea — unless  the 
old  man  discovered  that  its  roof  was  made 
of  strawberry  icing,  and  ate  it  up." 

"Ho!  Ho!  Ho!"  laughed  some  one  from 
behind  them. 

Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  turned  quickly, 
and  lo  and  behold,  directly  behind  them 
stood  the  little  Unwiseman  himself,  trying 
to  dig  the  oak  tree  up  by  the  roots  with  a 
small  teaspoon  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"The  idea  of  my  eating  up  my  house! 
Hoh!  What  nonsense.  Hoh!"  he  said,  as 
the  visitors  turned. 

"Well,  what  has  become  of  it,  then?" 
asked  Mollie. 

"  I've  moved  it,  that's  what,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman. "  I  couldn't  get  any  apples  on 
this  oak  tree,  so  I  moved  my  house  over 
under  the  willow  tree  down  by  the  brook." 

"  But  you  can't  get  apples  on  a  willow 
tree,  either,  can  you  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

32 


A   VISIT  TO   THE  UNWISEMAN. 


"I  don't  know  yet," 
said    the    Unwiseman. 
"  I   haven't  lived  there 
long    enough    to    find 
out,   but    I    can 
try,    and    that's 
all  anybody  can 
do." 

"  And     what 
are    you    doing 


with  that 
teaspoon  ?" 
asked 
Whistle- 
binkie. 


"You  see,  I  don't  want  to  swallow  an 
acorn  and  have  a  great  big  tree  like  that 
grow  up  in  me." 

33 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNVVISEMAN. 

"  I'm  digging  up  this  oak  tree,"  said  the 
Unwiseman.  "  I  want  to  get  the  acorn  it 
grew  out  of.  I'm  very  fond  of  acorns,  but 
I'm  afraid  to  eat  them,  unless  the  tree  that's 
in  'em  has  grown  out.  You  see,  I  don't 
want  to  swallow  an  acorn,  and  have  a  great 
big  tree  like  that  grow  up  in  me.  It 
wouldn't  be  comfortable." 

Whistlebinkie  said  he  thought  that  was  a 
very  good  idea,  because  there  could  not  be 
any  doubt  that  it  would  be  extremely  awk- 
ward for  any  man,  wise  or  unwise,  to  have 
an  oak  tree  sprouting  up  inside  of  him. 

"  What  are  you  so  anxious  to  know  about 
my  house  for  ?"  asked  the  Unwiseman,  sud- 
denly stopping  short  in  his  work  with  the 
teaspoon.  "You  don't  want  to  rent  it  for 
the  summer,  do  you  ?" 

"  Whistlebinkie  and  I  have  come  down  to 
call  upon  you,  that's  all,"  explained  Mollie. 

"Well  now,  really?"  said  the  Unwiseman, 
rising,  and  dropping  the  teaspoon.  "  That's 

34 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


too    bad,  isn't  it  ?      Here   you've   come   all 

this  way  to  see  me  and    I  am   out.  I   shall 

be  so   disappointed  when    I  get   home   and 

find   that   you    have   been  there  and    I    not 

there  to  see  you.    Dear! 

Dear!      How   full     of 

disappointments    this 

world  is.    You  couldn't 

come  again  last  night, 

could  you  ?  I  was  home 

then." 

"Not     very     well," 
said       Whistlebinkie. 
"  Mollie's  father  doesn't 
like  it    if  we  turn 
the  clock  back." 

"Dear  me! 
That's  too  bad, 
too!  My!"  said 
the  old  fellow,  with  a  look  of  real  sadness 
on  his  face.  "  What  a  disappointment,  to 
be  sure.  You  call  and  find  me  out !  I  do 

35 


Turning  the  clock  back. 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

wish  there  was  some  way  to  arrange  it,  so 
that  I  might  be  at  home  when  you  call. 
You  can't  think  of  any,  can  you,  Miss  Whis- 
tlebinkie?" 

"  Perhaps  now  that  you  know  we  are 
coming,"  said  Mollie,  who,  while  her  last 
name  was  not  Whistlebinkie,  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  old 
man's  mistake,  which  amused  her  very 
much,  "  perhaps  now  that  you  know  we  are 
coming  you  might  run  ahead  and  be  there 
when  we  arrive." 

"That's  the  scheme!"  said  Whistlebinkie. 

"Yes,  that's  a  first-rate  plan,"  said  the  old 
man,  nodding  his  head.  "  There's  only  one 
thing  against  it,  perhaps." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Whistlebinkie. 

"That  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  Unwise- 
man,  "  which  is  very  unfortunate,  because  it 
may  be  serious.  For  instance,  suppose  the 
objection  should  turn  out  to  be  in  the  shape 
of  a  policeman,  who  had  a  warrant  to  arrest 

36 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


me  for  throwing   stones  at   somebody's  pet 
tiger.     What  could  I  do?" 

"  But  you  haven't  been  throwing  stones  at 
anybody's  pet  tiger,  have  you  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  Not  while  I  was  awake,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman.  "  But  I  may  have  done  it  in  my 
sleep,  you  know.  People  do 
lots  of  things  in  their  sleep 
that  they  never  do  while  awake. 


"Not  while  I  was  awake,  but  I  may  have  done  it  in  my  sleep,  you  know." 


They  snore,  for  instance ;  and  one  man  I 
know,  who  always  rides  when  he  is  awake, 
walks  in  his  sleep." 

37 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  Let's  try  it,  anyway,"  said  Whistlebinkie. 
"  It  may  be  that  there  won't  be  any  trouble, 
after  all." 

"  Very  well,"  assented  the  Unwiseman. 
"  I'm  willing  if  you  are,  only  if  I  am  arrested 
it  will  be  all  your  fault,  and  you  must  prom- 
ise to  tell  the  policeman  that  it  was  you  who 
threw  the  stones  at  the  tiger  and  not  I." 

Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  feeling  sure  that 
nothing  of  the  kind  would  happen,  readily 
made  the  promise,  and  the  queer  little  old 
man  started  off  for  his  house  as  fast  as  his 
legs  could  carry  him. 

The  two  small  visitors  followed  slowly, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  had  reached  the 
Unwiseman's  door  down  by  the  willow 
tree.  The  door  was  tightly  closed,  so  they 
knocked.  For  a  while  there  was  no  answer, 
and  then  they  knocked  again.  In  response 
to  this  they  heard  a  shuffling  step  within, 
and  a  voice  which  they  recognized  as  that 
of  the  Unwiseman  called  out: 

38 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  Is  that  a  policeman  ?  Because  if  it  is, 
I'm  not  at  home.  I  went  out  three  weeks 
ago  and  won't  be  back 
again  for  six  years,  and, 
furthermore,  I  never 
threw  stones  at  a  pet 
tiger  in  my  life  unless 
I  was  asleep,  and  that 
don't  count." 

"We  aren't  police- 
men," said  Mollie. 
"We're  Mollie  and 
Whistlebinkie  come  to 
see  you." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  cried 
the  Unwiseman  from  within,  as  he  threw 
the  door  open  wide.  "  Why,  what  a  pleas- 
ant surprise !  I  had  no  idea  you  were  com- 
ing. Walk  right  in.  So  glad  to  see  you." 

Whistlebinkie  giggled  slightly  through  his 
beaver  hat  as  he  and  Mollie,  accepting  the 
invitation,  walked  in  and  seated  themselves 

39 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNVVISEMAN. 

in  a  droll  little  parlor  that  opened  on   the 
left-hand  side  of  the  hall. 

"So  this  is  your  house,  is  it?"  said  Mollie, 
glancing  about  her  with  much  interest. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Unwiseman  ;  "  but,  Miss 
Whistlebinkie,  won't  you  kindly  sit  on  the 
table  instead  of  on  that  chair?  So  many 
people  have  been  hurt  by  chairs  breaking 
under  them — many  times  more  than  are 
hurt  from  sitting  on  tables— that  I  have  to 
be  very  careful.  I  have  no  doubt  the  chairs 
are  strong  enough  to  hold  you,  but  I  don't 
want  to  take  any  chances.  I  think  it  will 
rain  next  year,  don't  you  ?"  he  added. 
"And  you  haven't  brought  any  umbrellas! 
Too  bad,  too  bad.  If  you  should  get  wet, 
you'd  find  it  very  damp.  Really,  you  ought 
never  to  go  out  without  an  umbrella.  I 
always  do,  but  then  I  know  enough  to  go  in 
when  it  rains,  so  of  course  don't  need  one." 

"  I  see  you  have  a  piano,"  said  Whistle- 
binkie, taking  in  the  furniture  of  the  parlor. 

40 


A   VISIT  TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"Yes,"  replied  the  Unwiseman.  "It's  a 
very  fine  one,  too.  It  has  lots  of  tunes 
locked  up  in  it." 

"  Are  you  fond  of 
music?'  asked 
Mollie. 

"No,    I   hate 


said      the 
Unwiseman. 

''That's  why  I  have  the 
piano.  There's  just  so 
much  less  music  in  the 
world.  Nobody  can  get 
at  the  key^  of  that  piano, 
so  you  see  it's  never 
played,  which  pleases  me 
very  much.  If  I  were  rich  enough,  I'd  buy 
all  the  pianos,  and  organs,  and  fiddles,  and 
horn^,  and  drums  in  the  world,  and  I'd  keep 
'em  all  locked  up  so  that  there  never  would 
be  any  more  music  at  all." 


"  Are  you  fond  of  music  ?' 
asked  Mollie.  "  No,  I  hate  it,' 
said  the  Unwiseman. 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  Mollie. 
"  I  love  music." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  man,  generously, 
"you  can  have  my  share.  Whenever  any- 
body brings  any  music  around  where  I  am 
hereafter,  I'll  do  it  up  in  a  package,  and  send 
it  to  you."  "Thank  you  very  much,"  said 
Mollie.  "  It's  very  good  of  you." 

"Oh,  it's  no  favor  to  you,  I  am  sure!" 
put  in  the  Unwiseman,  hastily.  "  In  fact, 
it's  the  other  way.  I'm  obliged  to  you 
for  taking  it  off  my  hands.  If  you  want  to 
you  can  open  the  piano  right  away,  and  take 
out  all  the  tunes  there  are  in  it.  I'll  go  off 
on  the  mountains  while  you  are  doing  it, 
so  that  it  won't  annoy  me  any." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  said  Mollie.  "  I'd  a  great  deal 
rather  have  you  to  talk  to  than  all  the  tunes 
in  the  piano." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a 
smile  of  pleasure.  "What  shall  we  talk 
about,  frogs?" 

42 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   UNVVISEMAN. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  frogs,"  said 
Mollie. 

"  Neither  do  I,"  returned  the  Unwiseman. 
"  I  don't  know  the  difference  between  a  frog 
and  a  watch-chain,  except  that  one  chains 
Watches  and  the  other  doesn't,  but  which 
does  and  which  doesn't  I  haven't  a  notion." 

"  I  see  you  have  all  your  pictures  with 
their  faces  turned  to  the  wall,"  said  Mollie, 
looking  about  the  room  again  so  as  to  avoid 
laughing  in  the  Unwiseman's  face.  "  What 
is  that  for?" 

"That's  to  make  them  more  interesting," 
replied  the  Unwiseman.  "  They're  a  very 
uninteresting  lot  of  pictures,  and  I  never 
could  get  anybody  to  look  at  'em  until  I 
turned  them  hind  side  before,  that  way. 
Now  everybody  wants  to  see  them." 

Mollie  rose  up,  and  turned  one  of  them 
about  so  that  she  could  see  it. 

"It's  very  pretty,"  she  said.  "What  is  it 
a  picture  of — a  meadow?" 

43 


MOLL1E   AND   THE  UNWISEMAN. 


"  No.  It's  a  picture  of  me,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman.  "  And  it's  one  of  the  best  I  ever 
had  taken." 

"  But  I  don't  see  you  in 
it,"  said   Mollie.     "All 
I    can    see    is   a 
great     field      of 
grass  and   a   big 
bowlder  down  in 
one  corner." 

"  I  know  it," 
said  the  Un- 
wiseman. 
"  I'm  lying  on 
my  back  be- 
hind the  bowl- 
der asleep.  If  "It's  a  picture  of  me." 

you  could  move  the  bowlder  you  could 
see  me,  but  you  can't.  It's  too  heavy,  and, 
besides,  I  think  the  paint  is  glued  on." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  lie  on  the  ground 
asleep  very  much,"  said  Mollie,  gravely,  for 

44 


A   VISIT   TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


she  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  this  strange 
old  man  who  didn't  know  anything.  "You 
might  catch  your  death  of  cold." 

"  I  didn't  say  I  was  lying,  on  the  ground," 
said  the  Unwiseman.  "  I  said  I  was  lying 
on  my  back.  People  ought  not  to  catch 
cold  lying  on  a  nice  warm  back  like  mine." 

"And  do  you  live  here  all  alone?"  asked 
Mollie. 

"  Yes,  I  don't  need  anybody  to  live  with. 
Other  people  know  things,  and  it  always 
makes  them  proud,  and  I  don't  like  proud 
people." 

"  I  hope  you  like  me,"  said  Mollie,  softly. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  do,"  cried  the  Unwiseman. 
"  I  like  you  and  Whistlebinkie  very  much, 
because  you  don't  either  of  you  know  any- 
thing either,  and  so,  of  course,  you  aren't 
stuck  up  like  some  people  I  meet  who  think 
just  because  they  know  the  difference  be- 
tween a  polar  bear  and  a  fog  horn  while  I 
don't  that  they're  so  much  better  than  I  am. 

45 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

I  like  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  come  and 
see  me  again." 

"  I  will,  truly,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Very  well — and  that  you  may  get  back 
sooner  you'd  better  run  right  home  now. 
It  is  getting  late,  and,  besides,  I  have  an 
engagement." 

"  You  ?"  asked  Mollie.     "  What  with  ?" 

"Well,  don't  you  tell  anybody,"  said  the 
Unwiseman ;  "but  I'm  going  up  to  the 
village  to  the  drug  store.  I  promised  to 
meet  myself  up  there  at  six  o'clock,  and  it's 
quarter  past  now,  so  I  must  hurry." 

"But  what  on  earth  are  you  going  to  do 
there?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  I'm  going  to  buy  myself  a  beaver  hat 
just  like  Whistlebinkie's,"  returned  the  Un- 
wiseman, gleefully,  "  I've  got  to  have  some- 
thing to  keep  my  tablecloth  in,  and  a  beaver 
hat  strikes  me  as  just  the  thing." 

Saying  which  the  Unwiseman  bowed  Mol- 
lie and  Whistlebinkie  out,  and  sped  off  like 

46 


D 


ST 
n 


D   D 


MOLLIE 


I  like  you,  am 
see  me  again." 

"  I  will,  truly 

"Very  well- 
sooner  you'd 
It   is   getting 
engagement." 

"You?"  askt 

"Well,  don't 
Unwiseman  ;  4 
village  to  the 
meet  myself  u 
quarter  past  nc 

"But  what  c 
there?"  asked 

"  I'm  going 
just  like  Whis 
wiseman,  gleef 
thing  to  keep  i 
hat  strikes  me 

Saying  whicl 
lie  and  Whistl< 


A   VISIT  TO   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


lightning  in  the  direction  of  the  village  drug 
store,  but  whether  or  not  he  succeeded  in 
getting  a  beaver  hat  there  I  don't  know,  for 
he  never  told  me. 


47 


EL 

THEJfl(Wf  E  OFTHE 


days  later  Mollie  and  Whistle- 
binkie  were  strolling  together  through  the 
meadows  when  most  unexpectedly  they 
came  upon  the  little  red  house  of  the  Un- 
wiseman. 

"  Why,    I  thought   this  house  was  under 
the  willow  tree,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Sotwuz,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie  through 
his  hat. 

"  What   are   you   trying  to  say,  Whistle- 
binkie?" asked  Mollie. 
4  49 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"So  —  it — was,"  replied  Whistlebinkie. 
"  He  must  have  moved  it." 

"  But  this  isn't  half  as  nice  a  place  for 
it  as  the  old  one,"  said  Mollie.  "There 
isn't  any  shade  here  at  all.  Let's  knock 
at  the  door,  and  see  if  he  is  at  home. 
Maybe  he  will  tell  us  why  he  has  moved 
again." 

Mollie  tapped  gently  on  the  door,  but  re- 
ceived no  response.  Then  she  tried  the 
knob,  but  the  door  was  fastened. 

"Nobody's  home,  I  guess,"  she  said. 

"The  back  door  is  open,"  cried  Whistle- 
binkie, running  around  to  the  rear  of  the 
house.  "  Come  around  this  way,  Mollie, 
and  we  can  get  in." 

So  around  Mollie  went,  and  sure  enough 
there  was  the  kitchen  door  standing  wide 
open.  A  chicken  was  being  grilled  on  the 
fire,  and  three  eggs  were  in  the  pot  boiling 
away  so  actively  that  they  would  undoubt- 
edly have  been  broken  had  they  not  been 

50 


IN   THE   HOUSE    OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


boiling  so  long  that  they  had  become  as 
hard  as  rocks. 

"  Isn't  he  the  foolishest  old  man  that  ever 
was,"  said  Mollie,  as  she  caught  sight  of  the 
chicken  and  the  eggs.  "  That  chicken  will 
be  burned  to  a  crisp,  and  the  eggs  won't  be 
fit  to  eat." 

"  I  don't  understand  him  at  all,"  said 
Whistlebinkie.  "  Look  at  this  notice  to 
burglars  he  has  pinned  upon  the  wall." 

Mollie  looked  and  saw  the  following, 
printed  in  very  awkward  letters,  hanging 
where  Whistlebinkie  had  indicated : 

NOTISS   TO    BURGYLERS. 

If  you  have  come  to  robb  mi  house  you'd 
better  save  yourselfs  the  trouble.  My  silver 
spoons  are  all  made  of  led,  and  my  dia- 
monds are  only  window  glass.  If  you  must 
steel  something  steel  the  boyled  eggs,  be- 
cause I  don't  like  boyled  eggs  anyhow. 
Also  plese  if  you  get  overcome  with  remoss 

-5* 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

for  having  robbed  a  poor  old  man  like  me 
and  want  to  give  yourselfs  upp  to  the  po- 
leese,  you  can  ring  up  the  poleese  over  the 
tellyfone  in  Miss  Mollie  Wisslebinkie's 
house  up  on  Broadway. 

Yoors  trooly, 

THE  UNWISEMAN. 

P.  S.  If  you  here  me  coming  while  you 
are  robbing  me  plese  run,  because  I'm  afraid 
of  burgylers,  and  doo  not  want  to  mete 
enny. 

N.  G.  If  you  can't  rede  my  handwriting 
you'd  better  get  someboddy  who  can  to  tell 
you  what  I  have  ritten,  because  it  is  very 
important.  Wishing  you  a  plesant  time  I 
am  egen  as  I  sed  befour 

Yoors  tooly, 

THE  UNWISEMAN. 

"What  nonsense,"  said  Mollie,  as  she 
read  this  extraordinary  production.  "As  if 

52 


IN    THE    HOUSE   OF   THE  UNWISEMAN. 


the  burglars  would    pay  any  attention   to  a 
notice  like  that." 

"Oh,    they    might!"    said   Whistlebinkie. 
"  It  might  make  'em  laugh  so 
they'd  have  fits, 
and    then    they 
couldn't  burgle.  % 


"It  might  make  'em  laugh  so  they'd  have  fits;  and  then  they 
couldn't  burgle." 

But  what  is  that  other  placard  he  has  pinned 
on  the  wall  ?" 

"That,"    said  Mollie,  as  she    investigated 

53 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


the  second  placard,  "  that  seems  to  be  a  lot 
of  rules  for  the  kitchen.  He's  a  queer  old 
man  for  placards,  isn't  he?" 

"Indeed  he  is,"  said  Whistlebinkie. 
"What  do  the  rules  say?" 

"  I'll  get  'em  down,"  said  Mollie,  mount- 
ing a  chair  and  removing  the  second  placard 
from  the  wall.  Then  she  and  Whistlebinkie 
read  the  following  words : 

KITCHING  RULES. 

1.  No  cook  under  two  years  of  age  un- 
accompanied by  nurse  or   parent   aloud   in 
this  kitching. 

3.  Boyled  eggs  must  never  be  cooked  in 
the  frying  pan,  and  when  fried  eggs  are 
ordered  the  cook  must  remember  not  to 
scramble  them.  This  rule  is  printed  ahed 
of  number  too,  because  it  is  more  important 
than  it. 

2.  Butcher  boys  are  warned  not  to  sit  on 
the  ranje  while  the  flyer  is  going  because  all 

54 


IN   THE   HOUSE   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


the  heat  in  the  flyer  is  needed  for  cooking. 
Butcher  boys  who  violate  this  rule  will  be 
charged  for  the  cole  con- 
sumed in  burning  them. 

7.  The  fiyer  must 
not  be  aloud  to  go 
out    without   some- 
boddy  with    it,    be- 
cause   flyers    are 
dangerous  and 
might     set 


the    house    on 
fiyer.    Any  cook 
which    lets    the    house    burn 
down    through   voilating  this 
^  rule   will  have   the   value  of 

"  The  fiyer  must  not  be    .1-1  i    ,  •,    r  i 

..     . ;  the  house  subtracted  from  her 

allowed  to  go  out  with- 
out someboddy  with  it. "  next   month's  wages,  with   in- 

55 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

terest  at  forety  persent  from  the  date  of 
the  flyer. 

1 1.  Brekfist  must  be  reddy  at  all  hours,  and 
shall  consist  of  boyled  eggs  or  something  else. 

4.  Wages  will  be  pade  according  to  work 
done  on  the  following  skale : 

For  cooking  one  egg  one  hour i  cent. 

"          "          "    leg  of  lamb  one  week     .  3    " 
"          "        pann  cakes  per  duzzen      .    .  2    " 

gravey,  per  kwart I     " 

"    stooing  proons  per  hundred     ....  2    " 

In  making  up  bills  against  me  cooks  must 
add  the  figewers  right,  and  substract  from 
the  whole  the  following  charges : 

For  rent  of  kitchchen  per  day    .    .    .    .10  cents. 

For  use  of  pans  and  kittles 15      " 

For  cole,  per  nugget 3      " 

Matches,  kindeling  and  gas  per  day  .    .  20     " 

Food  consoomed  in  tasting 30     " 

Sundries 50     " 

13.  These  rules  must  be  obayed. 
Yoors  Trooly, 

THE  UNWISEMAN. 
56 


IN   THE   HOUSE   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

P.  S.  Ennyboddy  violating  these  rules  will 
be  scolded.  Yoors  Tooly, 

THE  UNWISEMAN. 

Whistlebinkie  was  rolling  on  the  floor 
convulsed  with  laughter  by  the  time  Mollie 
finished  reading  these  rules.  He  knew 
enough  about  housekeeping  to  know  how 
delightful  they  were,  and  if  the  Unwiseman 
could  have  seen  him  he  would  doubtless 
have  been  very  much  pleased  at  his  appre- 
ciation. 

"The  funny  part  of  it  all  is,  though,"  said 
Mollie,  "  that  the  poor  old  man  doesn't  keep 
a  cook  at  all,  but  does  all  his  own  house- 
work." 

"  Let's  see  what  kind  of  a  dining-room  he 
has  got,"  said  Whistlebinkie,  recovering 
from  his  convulsion.  "  I  wonder  which  way 
it  is." 

"  It  must  be  in  there  to  the  right,"  said 
Mollie.  "  That  is,  it  must  if  that  sign  in 

57 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


the  passage-way  means  anything.  Don't 
you  see,  Whistlebinkie,  it  says :  '  This  way 
to  the  dining-room,'  and  under  it  it  has 
'  Caution :  meals  must  not  be  served  in  the 
parlor'?" 

"So  it  has,"  said  Whistlebinkie,  reading 
the  sign.  Let's  go  in  there." 

So  the  two  little  strangers  walked  into 
the  dining-room,  and  certainly  if  the  kitchen 
was  droll  in  the  matter  of  placards,  the  din- 
ing-room was  more  so,  for  directly  over  the 
table  and  suspended  from  the  chandelier 
were  these 

RULES  FOR  GUESTS. 

Guests  will   please   remember  to   remove 
their  hats  before   sitting  down  at  the  tabel. 
Soup  will  not  be  helped  more  than  three 
times  to  any  guest,  no  matter  who. 

It  is  forbidding  for  guests  to  criticize 
the  cooking,  or  to  converse  with  the  wait- 
eress. 

58 


IN   THE   HOUSE   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


Guests  will  kindly  not  contradict  or  make 
fun  of  their  host,  since  he  is  very  irritable 
and  does  not  like  to  be  contradicted  or  made 
fun  of.  Guests 
will  oblige  their 
host  by  not  ask- 
ing for  anything 
that  is  not 
the  bill 
of  fare. 
In 


'//      private  house  like 
this  it  would  be 
very  awkward  to 
have     to     serve 
guests  with  fried  potatoes  at  a  time   when 
ice-cream  or  mince  pie  has  been  ordered. 
Horses  and  wheelbarrows  are  not  aloud 

59 


"  Guest's  will  kindly  not  make  fun  of 
the  host." 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


in  this  diningroom  under  any  circumstances 
whatever. 

Neither  must  cows  or  hay  scales  be 
brought  here.  Guests  bringing  their  own 
olives  will  be  charged  extra.  Also  their 
own  assalted  ammonds.  Spoons,  platters, 
and  gravy  boats  taken  from  the  table  must 
be  paid  for  at  market  rates  for  articles  so 
taken  away. 

Any  guest  caught  violating  any  or  all 
of  these  rules  will  not  be  aloud  any  dessert 
whatever;  and  a  second  voilition  will  de- 
prive them  of  a  forth  helping  to  roast  beef 
and  raisins. 

Yoors  Tooly, 

THE  UNWISEMAN. 

N.  G.  Any  guest  desiring  to  substitute 
his  own  rules  for  the  above  is  at  libbity  to 
do  so,  provided  he  furnishes  his  own  dining- 
room. 

"  They're  the  most  ridiculous  rules  I  ever 

60 


IN   THE    HOUSE   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

heard  of,"  said  Mollie,  with  a  grin  so  broad 
that  it  made  her  ears  uncomfortable.  "  The 
idea  of  having  to  tell  anybody  not  to  wear 
a  hat  at  the  table!  He  might  just  as  well 
have  made  a  rule  forbidding  people  to  throw 
plates  on  the  floor." 

"  I  dessay  he  would  have,  if  he'd  thought 
of  it,"  returned  Whistlebinkie.  "But  just 
look  at  these  rules  for  the  waitress.  They 
are  worse  than  the  others."  Then  Whistle- 
binkie read  off  the  rules  the  Unwiseman  had 
made  for  the  waitress,  as  follows : 

RULES  FOR  THE  WAITERESS. 

1.  Iced  water  must  never  be  served  boil- 
ing, nor  under  any  circumstances  must  ice- 
cream come  to  the  tabel  fried  to  a  crisp. 

2.  Waiteresses  caught  upsetting  the  roast 
beef  on  a  guest's  lap  will  be  charged  for  the 
beef  at  the  rate  of  81.00  a  pound,  and  will 
have  to  go  to  bed  without  her  brekfist 

3.  All  cakes,  except  lady-fingers,  must  be 

61 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

served  in  the  cake  basket.  The  lady-fingers 
must  be  served  in  finger  bowls,  whether  this 
is  what  the  waiteress  is  used  to  or  not.  This 
is  my  dining-room,  and  I  am  the  one  to 
make  the  rules  for  it. 

4.  All  waiteresses  must  wear  caps.     Their 
caps  must  be  lace  caps,  and  not  yotting  caps, 
tennis  caps,  or  gun  caps.     The  caps  must  be 
worn  on  the  head,  and  not  on  the  hands  or 
feet.  All  waiteresses  caught  voilating  this  rule 
will  not  be  allowed  any  pie  for  eight  weeks. 

5.  Meals  must  not  be  served   until   they 
are  ready,  and  such  silly  jokes  as  putting 
an  empty  soup  tureen  on  the  table  for  the 
purpose  of  fooling  .me  will  be  looked  upon 
with  disfavor  and  not  laughed  at. 

6.  Waiteresses    must    never   invite    their 
friends  here  to  take  dinner  with  me  unless 
I  am  out,  and  they  mustn't  do  it  then  either, 
because  this  is  my  dining-room,  and  I  can 
wear  it  out  quick  enough  without  any  out- 
side help. 

62 


IN   THE   HOUSE   OF  THE   UNWISEMAN. 

7.  Waiteresses    must    not    whistle   while 
waitering    on    the     tabel,   because    it    isn't 
proper     that    they    should.      Besides,   girls 
can't  whistle,  anyhow. 

8.  At  all  meals  dessert  must  be  served  at 
every   other   course.      In   serving   a   dinner 
this  course  should  be  followed : 

1.  Pie. 

2.  Soup. 

3.  Custard. 

4.  Roast  Beef. 

5.  Ice-cream. 

6.  Sallad. 

7.  Pudding. 

8.  Coffee. 

9.  More  Pudding. 

9.  In   case   there  is   not   enough  of  any- 
thing to  go  around  more  will  be  sent  for 
at    the    waiteresses'    expense,   because     the 
chances  are  she  has  been   tasting  it,  which 
she  hadn't  any  business  to  do. 

63 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


10.  To  discourage  vvaiteresses  in  losing 
spoons,  and  knives,  and  forks,  any  waiteress 
caught  losing  a  spoon  or  a  knife  and  a  fork 
will  have  the  price  of  two  spoons,  two 
knives,  and  two  forks  substracted  off  of  her 
next  month's  wages. 

Yoors  Tooly, 

THE  UNWISEMAN. 

N.  G.  All  waiteresses  who  don't  like  these 
rules  would  better  apply  for  some  other 
place  somewhere  else,  because  I'm  not  going 
to  take  the  trouble  to  get  up  a  lot  of  good 
rules  like  these  and  then  not  have  them 
obeyed.  Riteing  rules  isn't  easy  work. 

"Well  I  declare!"  said  Mollie,  when  they 
had  finished  reading.  "  I  don't  wonder  he 
has  to  live  in  his  little  old  house  all  by 
himself.  I  don't  believe  he'd  get  anybody 
to  stay  here  a  minute,  if  those  rules  had  to 

be  minded." 

64 


IN   THE   HOUSE   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"Oh,  I  don't  know,"    said  Whistlebinkie. 
"They  all  seem  reasonable  enough." 

"I    think   I'll    take 
'em   down  and  show 
them  to  my  mamma," 
said  Mollie,  reaching 
out  to  do  as  she  said. 
"  No,  no,    don't  do 
that,"    said    Whistle- 
binkie.     "That 
wouldn't  be  right. 
They    are    his 
property, 
and  it  would 

never  do    for   you    to    steal 
them." 
-Riteing  rules  isn't       « That's   so,"    said    Mollie. 

easy  work."  .  )( 

"  I  guess  you  are  right 
"  If  you   want    to   steal    something  why 
don't  you  do  as  he  asked  you  to  ?"  put  in 
Whistlebinkie. 

"  What  did  he  ask  me  to  do  ?" 
5  65 


had  been  very  busy  setting 
things  to  rights  in  Cinderella's  house  one 
autumn  afternoon  not  long  after  her  visit  to 
the  Unwiseman.  Cinderella  was  a  careless 
Princess,  who  allowed  her  palace  to  get  into 
a  very  untidy  condition  every  two  or  three 
weeks.  Bric-a-brac  would  be  strewn  here 
and  there  about  the  floor;  clocks  would  be 
found  standing  upside  down  in  the  fire- 
places ;  andirons  and  shoe  buttons  would 
litter  up  the  halls  and  obstruct  the  stairways 

67 


MOLLIE   AND    THE   UNWISEMAN. 


— in  short,  all  things  would  get  topsy-turvy 
within  the  doors  of  the  Princess'  house,  and 
all  because  Princesses  are  never  taught 

o 

house-keeping.  Should  any  King  or  Queen 
read  these  lines,  the  author  hopes  that  his 
or  her  Majesty  will  take  the  hint  and  see 
to  it  that  his  or 


her  daughters  are 


properly 
brought  up 

"  Should  any  queen  read  these  lines,  the  author  .  . 

hopes  she  will  see  that  her  daughter  is  brought     and    taUgllt    tO 
up  to  look  after  household  affairs."  1rkr»b-        a    f  f   ^   r 

household  affairs,  for  if  they  do    not,  most 
assuredly  the  time  may  come  when  the  most 

magnificent  palace  in  the  world  will  be  al- 

68 


A   CALL   FROM   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

lowed  to  go  to  ruin  through  mere  lack  of 
attention. 

It  was  a  long  and  hard  task  for  the  little 
mistress  of  the  nursery,  but  she  finally  ac- 
complished it;  apple-pie  order  once  more 
ruled  in  the  palace,  the  Princess'  diamonds 
had  been  swept  up  from  the  floor,  and  stored 
away  in  the  bureau  drawers,  and  Mollie  was 
taking  a  well-earned  rest  in  her  rocking-chair 
over  by  the  window.  As  she  gazed  out 
upon  the  highway  upon  which  the  window 
fronted,  she  saw  in  the  dim  light  a  strange 
shadow  passing  down  the  walk,  and  in  a 
minute  the  front  door-bell  rang.  Supposing 
it  to  be  no  one  but  the  boy  with  the  evening 
paper,  Mollie  did  not  stir  as  she  would  have 
done  if  it  had  been  her  papa  returning  home. 
The  paper  boy  possessed  very  little  interest 
to  her — indeed,  I  may  go  so  far  as  to  say 
that  Mollie  despised  the  paper  boy,  not  be- 
cause he  was  a  paper  boy,  but  because  he 

was  rude,  and  had,  upon  several  occasions 

69 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


recently  made  faces  at  her  and  told  her 
she  didn't  know  anything  because  she  was 
a  girl,  and  other  mean  things  like  that ;  as 
if  being  a  girl  kept  one  from  finding  out 
useful  and  important  things.  So,  as  I  have 
said,  she  sat  still  and  gazed  thoughtfully  out 
of  the  window. 

Her  thoughts  were  interrupted  in  a  mo- 
ment, however,  by  a  most  extraordinary  pro- 
ceeding at  the  nursery  door.  It  suddenly 
flew  open  with  a  bang,  and  Whistlebinkie 
came  tumbling  in  head  over  heels,  holding 
the  silver  card-receiver  in  his  hand,  and 
whistling  like  mad  from  excitement. 

"Cardfew,"  he  tooted  through  the  top  of 
his  hat.  "  Nwiseman  downstairs." 

"What  are  you  trying  to  say,  Whistle- 
binkie?" asked  Mollie,  severely. 

"  Here  is  a  card  for  you,"  said  Whistle- 
binkie, standing  up  and  holding  out  the 
salver  upon  which  lay,  as  he  had  hinted,  a 

card.     "The  gentleman  is  below." 

70 


A  CALL   FROM   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


Mollie  picked  up  the  card,  which  read  this 
way : 


Mr.  ME. 

My  House. 


"What  on  earth  does  it  mean?"  cried 
Mollie,  with  a  smile,  the  card  seemed  so 
droll. 

"  It  is  the  Unwiseman's  card.  He  has 
called  on  you,  and  is  downstairs  in  the 
parlor- — and  dear  me,  how  funny  he  does 
look,"  roared  Whistlebinkie  breathlessly. 
"  He's  got  on  a  beaver  hat,  a  black  evening 
coat  like  your  papa  wears  to  the  theatre  or 
to  dinners,  a  pair  of  goloshes,  and  white 
tennis  trousers.  Besides  that  he's  got  an 
umbrella  with  him,  and  he's  sitting  in  the 
parlor  with  it  up  over  his  head." 

Whistlebinkie  threw  himself  down  on  the 
floor  in  a  spasm  of  laughter  as  he  thought 
of  the  Unwiseman's  appearance.  Mollie 
meanwhile  was  studying  the  visitor's  card. 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"What  does  he  mean  by  '  My  House'?" 
she  asked. 

"  That's  his  address,  I  suppose,"  said 
VVhistlebinkie.  "  But  what  shall  I  tell  him  ? 
Are  you  in  ?" 

"Of  course  I'm  in,"  Mollie  replied,  and 
before  Whistlebinkie  could  get  upon  his  feet 
again  she  had  flown  out  of  the  room,  down 
the  stairs  to  the  parlor,  where,  sure  enough, 
as  Whistlebinkie  had  said,  the  Unwiseman 
sat,  his  umbrella  raised  above  his  head,  look- 
ing too  prim  and  absurd  for  anything. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Whistlebinkie  ?" 
he  said,  gravely,  as  Mollie  entered  the  room. 
"  i  believe  that  is  the  correct  thing  to  say 
when  you  are  calling,  though  for  my  part  I 
can't  see  why.  People  do  so  many  things 
that  there's  a  different  way  to  do  almost  all 
of  them.  If  I  said,  'how  do  you  do  your 
sums  ?'  of  course  there  could  be  a  definite 
answer.  '  I  do  them  by  adding,  or  by  sub- 

stracting.'     If  any  one  calling  on  me-  should 

72 


A   CALL   FROM    THE   UNWISEMAN. 

say,  'how, do  you  do?'  I'd  say,  'excuse  me, 
but  how  do  I  do  what  ?'  However,  I  wish 
to  be  ruled  by  etiquette,  and  as  I  understand 
that  is  the  proper  question  to  begin  with,  I 
will  say  again,  '  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Whis- 
tlebinkie  ?'  According  to  my  etiquette  book 
it  is  your  turn  to  reply,  and  what  you  ought 
to  say  is,  '  I'm  very  well,  I  thank  you,  how 
are  you  ?'  I'm  very  well." 

"  I'm  delighted  to  hear  it,  Mr.  Me,"  re- 
turned Mollie,  glad  of  the  chance  to  say 
something.  "  I  have  thought  a  great  deal 
about  you  lately." 

"So  have  I,"  said  the  Uriwiseman.  "I've 
been  thinking  about  myself  all  day.  I  like 
to  think  about  pleasant  things.  I've  been 
intending  to  return  your  call  for  a  long  time, 
but  really  I  didn't  know  exactly  how  to  do 
it.  You  see,  some  things  are  harder  to 
return  than  other  things.  If  I  borrowed  a 
book  from  you,  and  wanted  to  return  it,  I'd 
know  how  in  a  minute.  I'd  just  take  the 

73 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

book,  wrap  it  up  in  a  piece  of  brown  paper, 
and  send  it  back  by  mail  or  messenger — or 
both,  in  case  it  happened  to  be  a  male 
messenger.  Same  way  with  a  pair  of  and- 
irons. Just  return  'em  by  sending  'em  back 
—but  calls  are  different,  and  that's  what  I've 
come  to  see  you  about.  I  don't  know  how 
to  return  that  call." 

"  But  this  is  the  return  of  the  call,"  said 
Mollie. 

"  I  don't  see  how,"  said  the  Unwiseman, 
with  a  puzzled  look  on  his  face.  "  This  isn't 
the  same  call  at  all.  The  call  you  made  at 
my  house  was  another  one.  This  arrange- 
ment is  about  the  same  as  it  would  be  in  the 
case  of  my  borrowing  a  book  on  Asparagus 
from  you,  and  returning  a  book  on  Sweet 
Potatoes  to  you.  That  wouldn't  be  a  return 
of  your  book.  It  would  be  returning  my 
book.  Don't  you  see  ?  Now,  I  want  to  be 
polite  and  return  your  call,  but  I  can't.  I 
can't  find  it.  It's  come  and  gone.  I  almost 

74 


, 


A   CALL   FROM   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


wish  you  hadn't  called,  it's  puzzled  me  so. 
Finally,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  come  here, 
and  apologize  to  you  for  not  returning  it. 
That's  all  I  can  do." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must!  How  could  I  apologize 
without  mentioning  it?"  said  the  Unwise- 
man,  hastily.  "  You  wouldn't  know  what  I 
was  apologizing  for  if  I  didn't  mention  it. 
How  have  you  been?" 

"Quite  well,"  said  Mollie.  "I've  'been 
very  busy  this  fall  getting  my  dolls'  dresses 
made  and  setting  everything  to  rights. 
Won't  you — ah — won't  you  put  down  your 
umbrella,  Mr.  Me?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  Unwiseman, 
with  an  anxious  peep  at  the  ceiling.  "  I  am 
very  timid  about  other  people's  houses,  Miss 
Whistlebinkie.  I  have  been  told  that  some- 
times houses  fall  down  without  any  provoca- 
tion, and  while  I  don't  doubt  that  your  house 
is  well  built  and  all  that,  some  nail  some- 

75 


MOLLIE   AND   THE  UNWISEMAN. 


where  might  give  way  and  the  whole  thing 
might  come  down.  As  long  as  I  have  the 
umbrella  over  my  head  I  am  safe,  but  with- 
out it  the  ceiling,  in  case  the  house  did  fall, 
would  be  likely  to  spoil  my  hat.  This  is  a 
pretty  parlor  you  have.  They  call  it  white 
and  gold,  I  believe." 

"Yes,"  said  Mollie.  "Mamma  is  very 
fond  of  parlors  of  that  kind." 

"So  am  I,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  I  have 
one  in  my  own  house." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Mollie.     "  I  didn't  see  it." 

"  You  were  in  it,  only  you  didn't  know  it," 
observed  the  Unwiseman.  "  It  was  that 
room  with  the  walls  painted  brown.  I  was 
afraid  the  white  and  gold  walls  would  get 
spotted  if  I  didn't  do  something  to  protect 
them,  so  I  had  a  coat  of  brown  paint  put 
over  the  whole  room.  Good  idea  that,  I 
think,  and  all  mine,  too.  I'd  get  it  patented, 
if  I  wasn't  afraid  somebody  would  make  an 
improvement  on  it,  and  get  all  the  money 

76 


'  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  unwiseman,  with  an  anxious  peep  at  the  ceiling. — Page  76. 


A   CALL   FROM   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


that  belonged  to  me,  which  would  make  me 
very  angry.  I  don't  like  to  get  angry,  be- 
cause when  I  do  I  always  break  something 
valuable,  and  I  find  that  when  I  break  any- 
thing valuable  I  get 
angrier  than  ever,  and 
go  ahead  and  break 
something  else.  If  I 
got  angry  once  I  never 
could  stop  until  I'd 
broken  all  the  valuable 
things  in  the  world, 
and  when  they  were 
all  gone  where  would 
I  be?" 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Mollie,  as  she 
puzzled  over  the  Unwiseman's  idea,  of  which 
he  seemed  unduly  proud,  "  it  seems  to  me 
that  if  you  cover  a  white  and  gold  parlor 
with  a  coat  of  brown  paint,  it  doesn't  stay  a 
white  and  gold  parlor.  It  becomes  a  brown 
parlor." 

77 


"I  don't  like  to  get  angry." 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  Not  at  all,"  returned  the  Unwiseman. 
"How  do  you  make  that  out?  Put  it  this 
way :  You,  for  instance,  are  a  white  girl, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mollie. 

"That  is,  they  call  you  white,  though 
really  you  are  a  pink  girl.  However,  for 
the  sake  of  the  argument,  you  are  white." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mollie,  anxious  to  be 
instructed. 

"And  you  wear  clothes  to  protect  you." 

"  I  do." 

"  Now  if  you  wore  a  brown  dress,  would 
you  cease  to  be  a  white  girl  and  become  a 
nigrio  ?" 

"A  what?"  cried  Mollie. 

"A  nigrio — a  little  brown  darky  girl,"  said 
the  Unwiseman. 

"  No,"  said  Mollie.  "  I'd  still  be  a  white 
or  pink  girl,  whatever  color  I  was  before." 

"  Well — that's  the  way  with  my  white  and 
gold  parlor.  It's  white  and  gold,  and  I  give 

78 


A   CALL   FROM   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

it  a  brown  dress  for  protection.  That's  all 
there  is  to  it.  I  see  you  keep  your  vases  on 
the  mantel-piece.  Queer  notion  that.  Rather 
dangerous,  I  should  think." 

Mollie  laughed. 

"  Dangerous  ?"  she  cried.  "  Why  not  at 
all.  They're  safe  enough,  and  the  mantel- 
piece is  the  place  for  them,  isn't  it?  Where 
do  you  keep  yours  ?" 

"  I  don't  have  any.  I  don't  believe  in 
'em,"  replied  the  Unwiseman.  "They  aren't 
any  good." 

"  They're  splendid,"  said  Mollie.  "  They're 
just  the  things  to  keep  flowers  in." 

"What  nonsense,"  said  the  Unwiseman, 
with  a  sneer.  "The  place  to  keep  flowers 
is  in  a  garden.  You  might  just  as  well  have 
a  glass  trunk  in  your  parlor  to  hold  your 
clothes  in ;  or  a  big  china  bin  to  hold  oats 
or  grass  in.  It's  queer  how  you  people  who 
know  things  do  things.  But  anyhow,  if  I 
did  have  vases  I  wouldn't  put  'em  on  man- 

79 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


tel-pieces,  but  on  the  floor.     If  they  are  on 
the  floor  they  can't  fall  off  and  break  unless 

your  house  turns 
upside  down." 

"They  might 
get  stepped  on," 
said  Mollie. 
"Poh!"  snapped 
the    Unwiseman. 
"  Don't  you 
wise  people 


look  where 
you  step? 
I  do,  and 
they  say  I 
don't  know 
enough  t  o 
go  in  when 
it  rains, 
which  is  not 
true.  I  know  more  than  enough  to  go  in 

when  it  rains.     I  stay  out  when  it  rains  be- 
So 


I'm  fond  of  the  wet. 


A   CALL   FROM    THE   UNWISEMAN. 


cause  I  like  to.  I'm  fond  of  the  wet.  It  keeps 
me  from  drying  up,  and  makes  my  clothes  fit 
me.  Why,  if  I  hadn't  stayed  out  in  the  rain 
every  time  I  had  a  chance  last  summer  my 
flannel  suit  never  would  have  fitted  me.  It 
was  eight  sizes  too  big,  and  it  took  sixteen 
drenching  storms  to  make  it  shrink  small 
enough  to  be  just  right.  Most  men — wise 
men  they  call  themselves — would  have  spent 
money  having  them  misfitted  again  by  a 
tailor,  but  I  don't  spend  my  money  on 
things  I  can  get  done  for  nothing.  That's 
the  reason  I  don't  pay  anything  out  to  beg- 
gars. I  can  get  all  the  begging  I  want  done 
on  my  place  without  having  to  pay  a  cent 
for  it,  and  yet  I  know  lots  and  lots  of  people 
who  are  all  the  time  spending  money  on 
beggars." 

"There  is  a  great  deal  in  what  you  say," 
said  Mollie. 

"There  generally  is,"  returned  the  Un- 
wiseman.  "I  do  a  great  deal  of  thinking, 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

and  I  don't  say  anything  without  having 
thought  it  all  out  beforehand.  That's  why 
I'm  so  glad  you  were  at  home  to-day.  I 
mapped  out  all  my  conversation  before  I 
came.  In  fact,  I  wrote  it  all  down,  and  then 
learned  it  by  heart.  It  would  have  been 
very  unpleasant  if  after  doing  all  that,  taking 
all  that  trouble,  I  should  have  found  you  out. 
It's  very  disappointing  to  learn  a  conversa- 
tion, and  then  not  converse  it." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Mollie.  "  What 
do  you  do  on  such  occasions  ?  Keep  it 
until  the  next  call  ?" 

"No.  Sometimes  I  tell  it  to  the  maid, 
and  ask  her  to  tell  it  to  the  person  who  is 
out.  Sometimes  I  say  it  to  the  front  door, 
and  let  the  person  it  was  intended  for  find 
it  out  for  herself  as  best  she  can,  but  most 
generally  I  send  it  to  'em  by  mail." 

Here  the  Unwiseman  paused  for  a  min- 
ute, cocking  his  head  on  one  side  as  if  to 

think. 

82 


A   CALL   FROM   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


14  Excuse  me,"  he  said.  "  But  I've  for- 
gotten what  I  was  to  say  next.  I'll  have  to 
consult  my  memorandum-book.  Hold  my 
umbrella  a  minute — over  my  head  please. 
Thank  you." 

Then  as  Mollie  did  as  the  queer  creature 
wished,  he  fumbled  in  his  pockets  for  a 
minute  and  shortly  extracting  his  memoran- 
dum-book from  a  mass  of  other  stuff,  he 
consulted  its  pages. 

"  Oh,  yes !"  he  said,  with  a  smile  of  happi- 
ness. "  Yes,  I've  got  it  now.  At  this  point 
you  were  to  ask  me  if  I  wouldn't  like  a  glass 
of  lemonade,  and  I  was  to  say  yes,  and  then 
you  were  to  invite  me  up-stairs  to  see  your 
play  room.  There's  some  talk  scattered  in 
during  the  lemonade,  but,  of  course,  I  can't 
go  on  until  you've  done  your  part." 

He  gazed  anxiously  at  Mollie  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  the  little  maid,  taking  the  hint, 
smilingly  said : 

"  Ah !  won't  you  have  a  little  refreshment, 

83 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


Mr.  Me  ?  A  glass  of  lemonade,  for  in- 
stance ?" 

"  Why — ah — certainly,  Miss  Whistlebin- 
kie.  Since  you  press  me,  I — ah — I  don't 
care  if  I  do." 

And  the  caller  and  his  hostess  passed, 
laughing  heartily,  out  of  the  white  and  gold 
parlor  into  the  pantry. 


"  How  do  you  like  your  lemonade  ?"  asked 
Mollie,  as  she  and  the  Unwiseman  entered 
the  pantry.  "  Very  sour  or  very  sweet  ?" 

"  What  did  you  invite  me  to  have  ?"  the 
Unwiseman  replied.  "  Lemonade  or  sugar- 
ade  ?" 

"  Lemonade,  of  course,"  said  Mollie.  "  I 
never  heard  of  sugarade  before." 

"Well,  lemonade  should  be  very  lemony 
and  sugarade  should  be  very  sugary;  so 

85 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


when  I  am  invited  to  have  lemonade  I 
naturally  expect  something  very  lemony, 
don't  I  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Mollie,  meekly. 

"Very  well,  then.  That  answers  your 
question.  I  want  it  very  sour.  So  sour 
that  I  can't  drink  it  without  it  puckering  my 
mouth  up  until  I  can't  do  anything  but  whis- 
tle like  our  elastic  friend  with  the  tootle  in 
his  hat." 

"  You  mean  Whistlebinkie  ?"  said  Mollie. 

"  Yes — that  India-rubber  creature  who  fol- 
lows you  around  all  the  time  and  squeaks 
whenever  any  one  pokes  him  in  the  ribs. 
What's  become  of  him  ?  Has  he  blown  him- 
self to  pieces,  or  has  he  gone  off  to  have 
himself  made  over  into  a  golosh  ?" 

"  Oh,  no — Whistlebinkie  is  still  here,"  said 
Mollie.  "  In  fact,  he  let  you  into  the  house. 
Didn't  you  see  him  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  I  didn't,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man.  "  What  do  you  take  me  for  ?  I'm 

86 


THE   UNWISEMAN   IS    OFFENDED. 

proud,  I  am.  I  wouldn't  look  at  a  person 
who'd  open  a  front  door.  I  come  of  good 
family.  My  father  was  a  Dunderberg  and 
my  mother  was  a  Van  Scootle.  We're  one 
of  the  oldest  families  in  creation.  One  of 
my  ancestors  was  in  the  Ark,  and  I  had  sev- 
eral who  were  not.  It  would  never  do  for 
one  in  my  position  to  condescend  to  see  a 
person  who  opened  a  front  door  for  pay. 

"  That's  why  I  don't  have  servants  in  my 
own  house.  I'd  have  to  speak  to  them,  and 
the  idea  of  a  Dunderberg-Van  Scootle  en- 
gaged in  any  kind  of  conversation  with  ser- 
vants is  not  to  be  thought  of.  We  never 
did  anything  for  pay  in  all  the  history  of  our 
family,  and  we  never  recognize  as  equals 
people  who  do.  That's  why  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  anybody  but  children.  Most 
grown  up  people  work." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  live,"  said  Mollie. 
"  How  do  you  pay  your  bills  ?" 

"  Don't  have  any,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 

87 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  Never  had  a  bill  in  my  life.  I  leave  bills 
to  canary  birds  and  mosquitoes." 

"  But  you  have  to  buy  things  to  eat,  don't 
you  ?" 

"  Very  seldom,"  said  the  Unvviseman.  I'm 
never  hungry ;  but  when  I  do  get  hungry  I 
can  most  generally  find  something  to  eat 
somewhere — apples,  for  instance.  I  can  live 
a  week  on  one  apple." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  do  when  you've  eaten 
the  apple  ?"  queried  Mollie. 

"What  an  absurd  question,"  laughed  the 
Unvviseman.  "  Didn't  you  know  that  there 
was  more  than  one  apple  in  the  world? 
Every  year  I  find  enough  apples  to  last  me 
as  long  as  I  think  it  is  necessary  to  provide. 
Last  year  I  laid  in  fifty-three  apples  so  that 
if  I  got  very  hungry  one  week  I  could  have 
two — or  maybe  I  could  give  a  dinner  and 
invite  my  friends,  and  they  could  have  the 
extra  apple.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"Well,  you  are  queer,   for   a   fact!"   said 

88 


THE   UNWISEMAN    IS   OFFENDED. 

Mollie,  getting  a  large  lemon  out  of  the  pan- 
try closet  and  cutting  it  in  half. 

As  the  sharp  steel  blade  of  the  knife  cut 
through  the  crisp  yellow  lemon  the  eyes  of 
the  Unwiseman  opened  wide  and  bulged 
with  astonishment. 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  doing,  Miss  Whis- 
tlebinkie  ?"  he  said.  "  Why  do  you  destroy 
that  beautiful  thing  ?" 

It  was  Mollie's  turn  to  be  surprised. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean"  she  said. 
"  Why  shouldn't  I  cut  the  lemon  ?  How  can 
I  make  a  lemonade  without  cutting  it?" 

"Humph!"  said  the  Unwiseman,  with  a 
half  sneer  on  his  lips.  "  You'll  go  to  the 
poor-house  if  you  waste  things  like  that 
Why,  I've  had  lemonade  for  a  year  out  of 
one  lemon,  and  it  hasn't  been  cut  open  yet. 
I  drop  it  in  a  glass  of  water  and  let  it  soak 
for  ten  minutes.  That  doesn't  use  up  the 
lemon  juice  as  your  plan  does,  and  it  makes 

one  of  the  bitterest  sour  drinks  that  you  ever 

89 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

drank — however,  this  is  your  lemonade  treat, 
and  it  isn't  for  me  to  criticize.  My  book  of 
etiquette  says  that  people  out  calling  must 
act  according  to  the  rules  of  the  house  they 
are  calling  at.  If  you  asked  me  to  have  some 
oyster  soup  and  then  made  it  out  of  sassafras 
or  snow-balls,  it  would  be  my  place  to  eat  it 
and  say  I  never  tasted  better  oyster  soup  in 
my  life.  That's  a  funny  thing  about  being 
polite.  You  have  to  do  and  say  so  many 
things  that  you  don't  really  mean.  But  go 
ahead.  Make  your  lemonade  in  your  own 
way.  I've  got  to  like  it  whether  I  like  it 
or  not.  It  isn't  my  lemon  you  are  wasting." 

Mollie  resumed  the  making  of  the  lemon- 
ade while  the  Unwiseman  looked  about  him, 
discovering  something  that  was  new  and 
queer  to  him  every  moment.  He  seemed  to 
be  particularly  interested  in  the  water  pipes. 

"Strange  idea  that,"  he  said,  turning  the 
cold  water  on  and  off  all  the  time.  "You 

have  a  little   brook    running   through   your 

90 


THE   UNWISEMAN   IS   OFFENDED. 


house  whenever  you  want  it.     Ever  get  any 
fish  out  of  it  ?" 

"No,"  said  Mollie,  with  a  laugh.  "We 
couldn't  get  very  big  fish  through  a  faucet 
that  size." 

"That's   what 
I  was  thinking," 
said  the  Unwise- 
man,  turning  the 
water  on  again ; 
"and  further- 
more,    I     think 
it's  very  strange 
that    you    don't 
fix   it   so 
that  you 
can 
get 
fish. 

A    frrviif          "  Why  don't  you  have  larger  faucets  and  catch  the  fish?" 

isn't  more   than  four   inches   around.     You 
could  get  one  through  a  six-inch  pipe  with- 

91 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


out  any  trouble  unless  he  got  mad  and 
stuck  his  fins  out.  Why  don't  you  have 
larger  faucets  and  catch  the  fish  ?  I  would. 
If  there  aren't  any  fish  in  the  brook  you  can 
stock  it  up  without  any  trouble,  and  it  would 
save  you  the  money  you  pay  to  fish-markets 
as  well  as  the  nuisance  of  going  fishing 
yourself  and  putting  worms  on  hooks." 

A  long  hilarious  whistle  from  the  pantry 
door  caused  the  Unwiseman  to  look  up 
sharply. 

"  What  was  that  ?"  he  said. 

"  Smee,"  came  the  whistling  voice. 

"  It's  Whistlebinkie,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Is  his  real  name  Smee  ?"  asked  the  Un- 
wiseman. "  I  thought  Whistlebinkie  was  his 
name." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Mollie.  "But  when  he 
gets  excited  he  always  runs  his  words  to- 
gether and  speaks  them  through  the  top  of 
his  hat.  By  '  smee  '  he  meant  'it's  me.'  Come 

in,  Whistlebinkie." 

92 


THE   UNWISEMAN    IS    OFFENDED. 


"  I  shall  not  notice  him,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man,  stiffly.  "  Remember  what  I  said  to  you 
about  my  family.  He  opens  front  doors  for 
pay." 

"  Donteither,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie. 

"  You  wrong  him,  Mr.  Unwiseman,"  said 
Mollie.  "  He  isn't  paid  for  opening  the  front 
door.  He  just  does  it  for  fun." 

"  Oh !  well,  that's  different,"  said  the  proud 
visitor.  "  If  he  does  it  just  for  fun  I  can 
afford  to  recognize  him — though  I  must  say 
I  can't  see  what  fun  there  is  in  opening  front 
doors.  How  do  you  do,  Whistlebinkie  ?" 

"  Pretwell,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  How 
are  you  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know  what  to  say,"  replied  the 
Unwiseman,  scratching  his  head  thoughtfully. 
"You  see,  Miss  Mollie,  when  I  got  up  my 
conversation  for  this  call  I  didn't  calculate 
on  Whistlebinkie  here.  I  haven't  any  re- 
marks prepared  for  him.  Of  course,  I  could 
tell  him  that  I  am  in  excellent  health,  and 

93 


V 

MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


that  I  think  possibly  it  will  rain  before  the 
year  is  over ;  but,  after  all,  that's  very  ordi- 
nary kind  of  talk,  and  we'll  have  to  keep 
changing  the  subject  all  the  time  to  get 
back  to  my  original  conversation  with 
you." 

"  Whistlebinkie  needn't  talk  at  all,"  said 
Mollie.  "  He  can  just  whistle." 

"  Or  maybe  I  could  go  outside  and  put  in 
a  few  remarks  for  him  here  and  there,  and 
begin  the  call  all  over  again,"  suggested  the 
Unwiseman. 

"  Oh,  no !  Dodoothat,"  began  Whistlebin- 
kie. 

"  Now  what  does  he  mean  by  dodoothat?" 
asked  the  visitor,  with  a  puzzled  look  on  his 
face. 

"  He  means  don't  do  that  —  don't  you, 
Whistlebinkie  ?  Answer  plainly  through 
your  mouth  and  let  your  hat  rest,"  said 
Mollie. 

"  That — swat — I — meant,"  said  Whistle- 

94 


THE   UNWISEMAN   IS   OFFENDED. 

binkie,  as  plainly  as  he  could.  "  He — needn't 
— botherto — talk — toomee — to  me,  I  mean. 
I  only — want — to — listen — towhim." 

"  What's  towhim  ?"  asked  the  Unwiseman. 

"To  you  is  what  he  means.  He  says 
he's  satisfied  to  listen  to  you  when  you 
talk." 

"  Thassit,"  Whistlebinkie  hurried  to  say, 
meaning,  I  suppose,  "  that's  it." 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  Unwiseman,  with  a  pleased 
smile.  "  That's  it,  eh  ?  Well,  permit  me  to 
say  that  I  think  you  are  a  very  wonderfully 
wise  rubber  doll,  Mr.  Whistlebinkie.  I  may 
go  so  far  as  to  say  that  in  this  view  of  the 
case  I  think  you  are  the  wisest  rubber  doll  I 
ever  met.  You  like  my  conversation,  do 
you  ?" 

"Deedido,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie.  "  I 
think  it's  fine !" 

"  I  owe  you  an  apology,  Whistlebinkie," 
said  the  Unwiseman,  gazing  at  the  doll  in  an 
affectionate  way.  "  I  thought  you  opened 

95 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN 


front  doors  for  pay,  instead  of  which  I  find 
that  you  are  one  of  the  wisest,  most  interest- 
ing rubber  celebrities  of  the  day.  I  apolo- 
gize for  even  thinking  that  you  would  accept 
pay  for  opening  a  front  door,  and  I  will 
esteem  it  a  great  favor  if  you  will  let  me  be 
your  friend.  Nay,  more.  I  shall  make  it 
my  first  task  to  get  up  a  conversation  espe- 
cially for  you.  Eh  ?  Isn't  that  fine,  Whistle- 
binkie  ?  I,  Me,  the  Unwiseman,  promise  to 
devote  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  of  his  time 
to  getting  up  talk  for  you,  talk  with  thinking 
in  it,  talk  that  amounts  to  something,  talk 
that  ninety-nine  talkers  out  of  a  hundred 
conversationalists  couldn't  say  if  they  tried ; 
and  all  for  you.  Isn't  that  honor?" 

"  Welliguess  !"  whistled  Whistlebinkie. 

"Ver^  well,  then.  Listen,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman. "  Where  were  we  at,  Miss  Mollie  ?" 

"  I  believe,"  said  Mollie,  squeezing  a  half  a 
lemon,  "  I  believe  you  were  saying  some- 
thing about  putting  fish  through  the  faucet." 

96 


THE  UNWISEMAN    IS   OFFENDED. 


"  Oh,  yes  !  As  I  remember  it,  the  faucets 
were  too  small  to  get  the  fish  through,  and 
I  was  wondering  why  you  didn't  have  them 
larger." 

"  That  was  it,"  said  Mollie.  "  You  thought 
if  the  faucets  were  larger  it  would  save  fish- 
hooks ind  worms." 

"  Exactly,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  And  I 
wonder  at  it  yet.  I'd  even  go  farther.  If  I 
could  have  a  trout-stream  running  through 
my  house  that  I  could  turn  on  and  off  as  I 
pleased,  I'd  have  also  an  estuary  connected 
with  the  Arctic  regions  through  which  whales 
could  come,  and  in  that  way  I'd  save  lots  of 
money.  Just  think  what  would  happen  if 
you  could  turn  on  a  faucet  and  get  a  whale. 
You'd  get  oil  enough  to  supply  every  lamp 
in  your  house.  You  wouldn't  have  to  pay 
gas  bills  or  oil  bills,  and  besides  all  that  you 
could  have  whale  steaks  for  breakfast,  and 
whenever  your  mother  wanted  any  whale- 
bone, instead  of  sending  to  the  store  for  it, 
7  97 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

she'd  have  plenty  in  the  house.  If  you  only 
caught  one  whale  a  month,  you'd  have  all 
you  could  possibly  need." 

"It  certainly  is  a  good  idea,"  said  Mollie. 
"  But  I  don't  think- 

"  Wait  a  minute,  please,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man,  hastily.  "  That  don't  think  remark  of 
yours  isn't  due  until  I've  turned  on  this  other 
faucet." 

Suiting  his  action  to  his  word,  the  Unwise- 
man  turned  on  the  hot-water  faucet,  and 
plunging  his  hand  into  the  water,  slightly 
scalded  his  fingers. 

"  Ouch !"  he  cried.  "  The  brook  must  be 
afire  !  Now  who  ever  heard  of  that  ?  The 
idea  of  a  brook  being  on  fire !  Really,  Miss 
Whistlebinkie,  you  ought  to  tell  your  papa 
about  this.  If  you  don't,  the  pipes  will  melt 
and  who  knows  what  will  become  of  your 
house  ?  It  will  be  flooded  with  burning 
water!" 

"  Oh,  no ! — I   guess   not.     That  water   is 

98 


"  Ouch  !"  he  cried;  "the  brook  must  be  afire!"— Page  98. 


THE   UNWISEMAN    IS   OFFENDED. 

heated  down  stairs  in  the  kitchen,  in  the 
boiler." 

"But— but  isn't  it  dangerous?"  the  Un- 
wiseman  asked,  anxiously. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mollie.  "You've  been 
mistaken  all  along,  Mr.  Me.  There  isn't  any 
brook  running  through  this  house.'' 

"I?"  cried  the  Unwiseman,  indignantly. 
"  Me  ?  I  ?  The  Unwiseman  mistaken  ? 
Never!  I  never  made  a  mistake  but  once, 
Miss  Mary  J.  Whistlebinkie,  and  that  was 
in  calling  upon  you.  I'm  going  home  at 
once.  You  have  outrageously  offended 
me." 

"I  didn't  mean  to,"  pleaded  Mollie.  "I 
was  only  trying  to  tell  you  the  truth.  This 
water  comes  out  of  a  tank." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  indig- 
nantly. "  You  have  said  that  I  have  made  a 
mistake.  You  charge  me  with  an  act  of 
which  I  have  never  been  guilty,  and  I  am 
going  straight  home.  You  said  something 

99 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


that  wasn't  in  the  conversation,  and  we  can 
never   get    back    again    to   the    point   from 

which  you  have  de- 
parted." 

"Oh!  do  stay," 
said  Whistlebinkie. 
"You  haven't  seen 
the  nursery  yet, 
and  the  hardwood 
stairs,  and  all  the 
lovely  things  we 
have  here." 

"  No,  I  haven't— 

"  I  am  going  straight  home." 

retorted  the  Unwiseman. 
cious  remarks  to  make  about  the  nursery,  but 
now  they  are  impossible.  I  shall  not  even 
drink  your  lemonade.  I  am  going  home !" 

And  without  another  word  the  Unwiseman 
departed  in  high  dudgeon. 

"  Isn't  it  too  bad,"  said  Mollie,  as  she  heard 
the  front  door  slam  after  the  departing  guest. 

100 


J  g^a'n't   nOW  !" 

"  I  had  some  deli- 


THE  UNWISEMAN    IS   OFFENDED. 

"Yes,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "I  wanted 
him  to  stay  until  it  was  dark.  I  should  like 
so  much  to  know  what  he'd  have  to  say 
about  gas." 


101 


was  the  Saturday  before 
Christmas.  Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  started 
out  in  the  afternoon  to  watch  the  boys 
skating  for  a  while,  after  which  they  went  to 
the  top  of  the  great  hill  just  outside  the 
village  to  take  a  coast  or  two.  Whistle- 
binkie had  never  had  any  experience  on  a 
sled,  and  he  was  very  anxious  to  try  it  just 
once,  and,  as  Mollie  was  a  little  sleepy  when 
he  began  persuading  her  to  take  him  some 

time  when  she  went,  for  the  sake  of  peace 

103 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

and  rest  she  had  immediately  promised  what 
he  wished  of  her.  So  here  they  were,  on  this 
cold,  crisp  December  day,  laboriously  lugging 
Mollie's  sled  up  the  hill. 

"  Tain-teesy  !"  whistled  Whistlebinkie. 

"What's  that  you  say?"  panted  Mellie, 
for  she  was  very  much  out  of  breath. 

"  Tain-teesy,"  repeated  Whistlebinkie.  "  I 
can't  wissel  well  when  I'm  out  of  breath." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  know  what  you  mean," 
said  Mollie.  "You  mean  that  it  isn't  easy 
pulling  this  sled  up  hill." 

"Thassit!"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "If  this 
is  what  you  call  coasting,  I  don't  want  any 
more  of  it." 

"  Oh,  no !"  said  Mollie.  "  This  isn't  coast- 
ing. This  is  only  getting  ready  to  coast. 
The  coast  comes  when  you  slide  down  hill. 
We'll  come  down  in  about  ten  seconds." 

"  Humph!"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "All  this 
pulling  and  hauling  for  ten  seconds'  worth 
of  fun?" 

104 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF  THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"That's  what  I  say!"  said  a  voice  at  Mol- 
lie's  elbow.  "  Sliding  down  hill  is  never  any 
fun  unless  you  live 
at  the  top  of  the 
hill  and  wish  to 
go  down  to  the 

**~&£      S'f 

level  to  stay 

forever." 

"Why," 
cried  Mollie, 

delightedly,  as  she  recog- 
nized the  voice ;  "  why  it's 
the  Unwiseman !" 

"  Sotiz  !"  roared  Whistle- 
"  sliding  down  hm  is  never   binkie,  intending,  ^of 

any  fun  unless  you  live  at  the      CQUrse     to   say   «  SQ   ft  js;» 
top  of  the  hill." 

"  Certainly  it  is,"  said 

the  Unwiseman  ;  "  for  how  could  it  be  other- 
wise, seeing  as  I  am  not  a  magic  lantern  and 
so  cannot  change  myself  into  some  one  else  ? 
I've  got  to  stay  Me  always." 

105 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNVVISEMAN. 

"Magic  lanterns  can't  change  themselves 
into  anything  else,"  said  Mollie.     "You  must 


mean  magician. 


"  Maybe  I  must,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  I 
guess  you  are  right.  Some  people  call  'em 
by  a  long  name  like  prestodigipotatoes,  but 
your  word  is  good  enough  for  me,  so  we'll 
let  it  go  at  that.  I'm  not  a  magellan,  so  I 
can't  transfigure  myself.  Therefore,  I  am 
still  the  Unwiseman  at  your  service.  But 
tell  me,  are  you  going  sliding?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mollie.  "Want  to  come  with 
us?" 

"I'd  like  to,  but  I'm  afraid  I  can't.  I'm 
very  busy,"  replied  the  Unwiseman.  "  I'm 
going  into  business." 

"  You  ?"  cried  Mollie,  in  amazement. 
"Why,  didn't  you  tell  me  once  that  you 
never  worked?  That  no  member  of  your 
family  had  ever  worked,  and  that  you  de- 
spised trade  ?" 

"  lyeardim,"  put  in  Whistlebinkie. 

1 06 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF  THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"What's  that?"  queried  the  Unwiseman, 
frowning  at  Whistlebinkie.  "What  does 
iyeardim  mean  ?" 

"  It's  Whistlebinkie  for  '  I  heard  him,'  "  ex- 
plained Mollie.  "  He  means  to  say  that  he 
heard  you  say  you  had  never  worked  and 
never  intended  to." 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "No 
doubt.  But  misfortune  has  overtaken  me. 
I  have  ceased  to  like  apples." 

"Ho!"  laughed  Mollie.  "What  has  that 
to  do  with  it?" 

"  I  have  ceased  to  like  apples  and  have 
conceived  an  unquenchable  thirst  for  choco- 
late eclaires,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  Hith- 
erto, as  I  once  told  you,  I  have  lived  on 
apples,  which  cost  me  nothing,  because  I 
could  pick  them  up  in  the  orchard,  but  choco- 
late eclaires  cost  money.  I  have  been  in- 
formed, and  I  believe,  they  cost  five  cents  a 
piece  ;  that  they  do  not  grow  on  trees,  but  are 

made  by  men  calling  themselves  fakirs " 

107 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  Bakers,  you  mean,  I  guess,"  interrupted 
Mollie. 

"  It  may  be,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  "  though 
neither  fakir  nor  baker  seems  to  me  to  be  so 
good  a  name  for  a  man  who  makes  cakes  as 
the  word  caker." 

"  But  there  isn't  any  such  word,"  said 
Mollie. 

"Then  that  accounts  for  it,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman. "  If  there  were  such  a  word  those 
men  would  be  called  by  it.  But  to  come 
back  to  the  chocolate  eclaires,  whether  they 
are  made  by  bakers,  fakirs,  or  plumbers,  they 
cost  money;  if  I  don't  have  them  I  shall 
starve  to  death,  for  I  can  never  more  eat 
apples ;  therefore,  to  live  I  must  make  some 
money,  and  to  make  money  I  must  go  into 
business." 

"  Well,  I  haven't  any  doubt  it  will  be  good 
for  you,"  said  Mollie.  "  It's  always  well  to 
have  something  to  do.  What  business  are 

you  going  into?" 

1 08 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Unwiseman,  with  a  shake 
of  his  head.  "  That's  my  secret.  I've  got  a 
patent  business  I'm  going  into.  It's  my 
own  invention.  I  was  going  to  be  a  lawyer 
at  first,  but  I  heard  that  lawyers  gave  advice. 
I  don't  intend  to  give  anything.  There  isn't 
any  money  in  giving  things,  so,  of  course,  I 
decided  not  to  be  a  lawyer — besides,  I  know 
of  a  man  who  was  a  lawyer  and  he  spent  all 
of  his  life  up  to  his  ears  in  trouble,  and  he 
didn't  even  own  the  trouble.  It  all  belonged 
to  his  victims." 

"  Why  don't  you  become  a  minister  ?"  sug- 
ge'sted  Mollie. 

"That's  too  hard  work,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man. "You've  got  to  go  to  church  three 
times  every  Sunday,  and,  besides,  my  house 
wouldn't  look  well  with  a  steeple  on  it. 
Then,  too,  I'd  have  to  take  a  partner  to  ring 
the  bell  and  play  the  organ,  and,  of  course, 
he'd  want  half  the  collections.  No :  I 

couldn't  be  a  minister.     I'm  too  droll  to  be 

109 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


one,  even  if  my  house  would  look  well  with 
a  steeple  on  it.  I  did  think  some  of  being  a 
doctor,  though." 

"  Why  don't  you  ?"  said  Mojlie.  "  Doctors 
are  awfully  nice  people.  Our  doctor  is  just 
lovely.  He  gives  me  the  nicest  medicines 
you  ever  saw." 

"  That  may  be  true;  but  I  don't  want  to  be 
a  doctor,"  returned  the  Unwiseman.  "You 
have  to  study  an  awful  lot  to  be  a  doctor.  I 
knew  a  man  once  who  studied  six  weeks 
before  he  could  be  a  doctor,  and  then  what 
do  you  suppose  happened  ?  It  was  awfully 
discouraging." 

"What  was  it?"  queried  Mollie. 

"  Why,  he  practised  on  a  cat  he  owned,  to 
see  what  kind  of  a  doctor  he  had  become, 
and  the  cat  died  all  nine  times  at  once;  so 
the  poor  fellow,  after  wasting  all  those  weeks 
on  study,  had  to  become  a  plumber,  after  all. 
Plumbing  is  the  easiest  profession  of  all,  you 
know.  You  don't  have  to  know  anything  to 

I  10 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


be  a  plumber,  only  you've  got  to  have  strong 
eyes." 

"  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  Mollie. 

"Oh  my,  yes !"  returned  the  Unvviseman. 
"You  can't  be  a  plumber  unless  you  have 
strong  eyes.  It  is  very  bad  for  a  weak-eyed 
person  to  have  to  sit  on  the  floor  and  look  at 
a  pipe  all  day.  That  is  one  reason  why  I'm 
not  going  to  be  a  plumber.  The  other  rea- 
son is  that  they  never  get  any  rest.  They 
work  all  day  eying  pipes,  and  then  have  to 
sit  up  all  night  making  out  bills,  and  then 
they  burn  their  fingers  on  stoves,  and  they 
sometimes  get  their  feet  wet  after  springing 
a  leak  on  a  pipe,  and,  altogether,  it  isn't 
pleasant  People  play  jokes  on  plumbers, 
too ;  mean  jokes.  Why,  I  knew  a  plumber 
who  was  called  out  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  once  by  a  city  man  who  was  trying 
to  be  a  farmer  during  the  summer  months, 
and  what  do  you  suppose  the  trouble 

was  ?" 

in 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Mollie. 
"What?" 

"  The  city  man  said  he'd  come  home  late 
and  found  the  well  full  of  water,  and  what 
was  worse,  the  colander  was  riddled  with 
holes.  Twelve  o'clock  at  night,  mind  you, 
and  one  of  these  bitter  cold  summer  nights 
you  find  down  in  New  Jersey." 

"That  was  awfully  mean,"  said  Mollie. 
"  That  is,  it  was  if  the  city  man  didn't  know 
any  better." 

"  He  did  know  better.  He  did  it  just  for  a 
joke,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 

"And  didn't  the  plumber  put  in  a  great 
big  bill  for  that?"  asked  Mollie. 

"Yes — but  the  city  man  couldn't  pay  it," 
said  the  Unwiseman.  "  That  was  the  meanest 
part  of  the  joke.  He  went  and  lost  all  his 
money  afterward.  I  believe  he  did  it  just  to 
spite  the  plumber." 

"Well,"  said  Mollie,  "here  we  are  at  the 
top  of  the  hill  at  last.  Won't  you  change 


I  12 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

your  mind  and  go  down  with  us,  just 
once  ?" 

"  Nope,"  returned  the  Unwiseman.  "  I 
can't  change  my  mind.  Can't  get  it  out  of 
my  head,  to  change.  Besides,  I  must  hurry. 
I've  got  to  get  a  hundred  pairs  of  stockings 
before  Christmas  Eve." 

"Oh!"  said  Mollie.  "I  see.  You  are 
going  into  the  stocking  business." 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  the  queer  old  fellow, 
with  a  knowing  smile.  "  There  isn't  much 
money  in  selling  stockings.  I've  got  a  better 
idea  than  that.  You  come  around  to  my 
house  Christmas  morning  and  I'll  show  you 
a  thing  or  two — that  is,  I  will  if  I  can  get  the 
hundred  pairs  of  stockings — you  couldn't 
lend  me  a  few  pairs,  could  you  ?" 

"  I  guess  maybe  so,"  said  Mollie. 

"All  right — thank  you  very  much,"  said 
the  Unwiseman.  "  I'll  be  off  now  and  get 
them.  Good-by." 

8  113 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


And  before  Mollie  could  say  another  word 
he  was  gone. 

"Isn't  he  the  worst  you  ever  saw?"  said 
Mollie. 

"  Puffickly-digulous,"  said  Whistlebinkie. 

"  I  wonder  what  his  business  is  to  be,"  ob- 
served Mollie,  as  she  seated  herself  on  the 
sled  and  made  ready  for  the  descent. 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  ideeeee-eeeeeeee- 
eeeee-eeee-ah !"  whistled  Whistlebinkie ;  a 
strange  and  long-drawn-out  word  that;  but 
whistling  dolls  are  very  like  boys  and  girls 
when  they  are  sliding  down  hill.  Mollie  had 
set  the  sled  in  motion  just  as  Whistlebinkie 
started  to  speak,  and  her  little  rubber  com- 
panion could  not  get  away  from  the  letter  e 
in  idea  until  he  and  his  mistress  ran  plump 
into  the  snow-drift  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"My!"  said  Whistlebinkie,  blowing  the 
snow  out  of  his  whistle.  "  Wasn't  that  fine ! 
I  could  do  that  all  day." 

"You  could  if  the  hill  was  long  enough," 

114 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF  THE   UNWISEM AN. 


said  Mollie,  sagely.  "  But  come,  we  must  go 
home  now."  And  home  they  went. 

In  the  forty-eight  or  more  hours  that 
passed  before  Christmas  morning  came,  Mol- 
lie often  wondered  at  the  business  venture 
of  the  Unwiseman.  What  it  could  be  she 
could  not  guess.  The  hundred  pairs  of 
stockings  mystified  her  exceedingly,  and  so, 
when  Christmas  morning  finally  dawned,  the 
first  thing  she  and  Whistlebinkie  did  was  to 
post  off  at  full  speed  to  the  house  of  the 
Unwiseman. 

"  I  wonder  where  his  home  is  now?"  said 
Whistlebinkie,  as  they  walked  along. 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,"  said  Mollie; 
"  but  it's  had  a  way  of  turning  up  where  we 
least  expected  it  in  the  past,  so  maybe  we'll 
find  it  in  the  same  way  now." 

Mollie  was  right,  for  hardly  were  the  words 
out  of  her  mouth  when  directly  in  front  of 
her  she  saw  what  was  unmistakably  the  house 
of  the  Unwiseman,  only  fastened  to  the  chim- 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

ney  was  a  huge  sign,  which  had  not  been 
there  the  last  time  she  and  Whistlebinkie 
had  visited  the  Unwiseman. 

"What  is  that  he's  got  on  his  chimmilly?" 
said  Whistlebinkie,  who  did  not  know  how 
to  spell,  and  who  always  pronounced  words 
as  he  thought  they  were  spelled. 

"It's  a  sign — sure  as  you  live,"  said  Mol- 
lie. 

"  What  does  it  say  ?"  Whistlebinkie  asked. 

"The  Unwiseman's  Orphan  Asylum,"  said 
Mollie,  reading  the  sign.  "  Notice  to  Santa 
Claus:  Dear  Sir: — Too  Hundred  Orphans 
is  Incarcerated  Here.  Please  leave  Toys 
Accordingly." 

"  Ho  !"  said  Whistlebinkie.     "  How  queer." 

"You  don't  suppose  he  has  really  gone 
into  the  Orphan  Asylum  business  ?"  said 
Mollie. 

"  I  dono,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  Let's  wait 
till  we  see  him  before  we  decide." 

So  they  ran  on  until  they  got  to  the  Un- 

116 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


wiseman's  front  door,  upon  which  they 
knocked  as  hard  as  they  knew  how. 

"  Who's  there  ?"  came  a  reply  in  a  mourn- 
ful voice,  from  within. 

"  It's  us,"  said  Mollie. 

"Who  is  Uss?"  said  the  voice.  "I  know 
several  Usses.  Are  you  George  W.  Uss,  the 
trolley-car  conductor,  or  William  Peters  Uss, 
the  poet  ?  If  you  are  the  poet,  I  don't  want 
to  see  you.  I  don't  care  for  any  poetry  to- 
day. If  you  are  the  conductor,  I've  paid  my 
fare." 

"  It's  Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie,"  said  Mol- 
lie. 

"  Oh — well,  that's  different.  Come  in  and 
see  your  poor  ruined  old  friend,  who's  got  to 
go  back  to  apples,  whether  he  likes  them  or 
not,"  said  the  voice. 

Mollie  opened  the  door  and  walked  in, 
Whistlebinkie  following  close  behind  her — 
and  what  a  sight  it  was  that  met  their  gaze ! 

There   in   the   middle  of  the   floor   sat   the 

117 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

Unwiseman,  the  perfect  picture  of  despair. 
Scattered  about  the  room  were  hundreds  of 
broken  toys,  and  swinging  from  the  mantel- 
piece were  two  hundred  stockings. 

"Hello!"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "Merry 
Christmas.  I'm  ruined;  but  what  of  that? 
You  aren't." 

"  But  how  are  you  ruined  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

"My  business  has  failed — it  didn't  work," 
groaned  the  Unwiseman.  "  It  was  the  toy 
business  I  was  going  into,  and  as  I  had  no 
money  to  buy  the  toys  with  I  borrowed  a 
hundred  pairs  of  stockings  and  hung  'em  up. 
Then  I  put  out  that  notice  for  Santa  Claus, 
telling  him  that  this  was  an  Orphan  Asy- 
lum." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mollie,  "  I  know.  But  it  wasn't 
the  truth,  was  it?" 

"Of  course  it  was,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"  I'm  an  orphan.  Very  few  men  of  my  age 
are  not,  and  this  is  my  asylum." 

"  Yes ;  but  you  said  there  were  two  hun- 

118 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF   THE  UNWISEMAN. 


dred   in    here,"  said    Mollie.     "  I   saw  your 


sign. 


"Well    there   are,"  said   the   Unwiseman. 
"  The   piano   hasn't    any   father   or   mother, 

neither    have    the 
chairs,  or  the  hun- 
dred and  ninety- 


The  Unwiseman' s  "orphans." 

eight  other  orphans  in  this  house.  It  was 
all  true." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Whistlebinkie, 
"you've  got  heaps  of  things.  Every  stock- 
ing seems  to  have  been  filled." 

"  True,"  said  the  Unwiseman.    "  But  almost 

entirely  with  old,  cast-off  toys.     I  think  it's 

119 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

pretty  mean  that  boys  and  girls  who  are  not 
orphans  should  get  all  the  new  toys  and  that 
those  who  are  orphans  get  the  broken  ones." 

Which  strikes  me  as  a  very  wise  remark 
for  an  unwise  man  to  make. 

"Anyhow,"  continued  the  Unwiseman, 
"  I'm  ruined.  I  can't  sell  these  toys,  and  so 
I've  got  to  go  back  to  apples." 

And  here  he  fell  to  weeping  so  violently 
that  Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  stole  softly 
out  and  went  home ;  but  on  the  way  Mollie 
whispered  to  Whistlebinkie : 

"  I'm  rather  sorry  for  him ;  but,  after  all,  it 
was  his  own  fault.  He  really  did  try  to  de- 
ceive Santa  Claus." 

"Yes,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "That's  so. 
But  he  was  right  about  the  meanness  of  giv- 
ing only  old  toys  to  orphans." 

"Yes,  he  was,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Yesindeedy !"  whistled  Whistlebinkie 
through  his  hat,  gleefully,  for  he  was  very 
happy,  as  indeed  I  should  be,  if  I  were  an 

1 20 


CHRISTMAS  VENTURE  OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

old  toy,  to  hear  my  little  master  or  mistress 
say  it  was  mean  to  give  me  away. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Mollie.  "He  seems 
to  have  got  over  his  anger  with  us.  I  was 
afraid  he  wouldn't  ever  speak  to  us  again 
after  his  call." 

"So  was  I,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "And  I 
asked  him  if  he  wasn't  mad  at  us  any  more, 
and  he  said,  yes  he  was,  but  he'd  forgiven  us 
for  our  Christmas  present." 


121 


BT 

Cx 

.  In  Wiich me 


•y6me 


very  . 


the  days  immediately  following 
Christmas  Mollie  was  so  absorbed  in  the 
beautiful  things  the  season  of  peace  on  earth 
and  good  will  to  men  had  brought  to  her 
that  she  not  only  forgot  the  Unwiseman  and 
his  woe  over  the  failure  of  his  business  plans, 
but  even  her  poor  little  friend  Whistlebinkie 
was  allowed  to  lie  undisturbed  and  un- 
thought  of.  Several  times  when  she  had 
come  near  his  side  Whistlebinkie  had  tried 

to  whistle  something  in  her  ear,  but  unsuc- 

123 


MOLLIE   AND   THE  UNWISEMAN. 

cessfully.  Either  the  something  he  wanted 
to  whistle  wouldn't  come,  or  else  if  it  did 
Mollie  failed  to  hear  it,  and  Whistlebinkie 
was  very  unhappy  in  consequence. 

"  That's  always  the  way,"  he  sobbed  to 
Flaxilocks  who  shared  his  exile  with  him  and 
who  sat  on  the  toy  shelf  gazing  jealously  out 
of  her  great,  deep  blue  eyes  at  the  magnifi- 
cent new  wax  doll  that  Mollie  had  received 
from  her  grandmother;  "don't  make  any 
difference  how  fine  a  toy  may  be,  he  may  be 
made  of  the  best  of  rubber,  and  have  a 
whistle  that  isn't  equalled  by  any  locomotive 
whistle  in  the  world  for  sweetness,  the  time 
comes  when  his  master  or  mistress  grows 
tired  of  him  and  lavishes  all  her  affection  on 
another  toy  b.ecause  the  other  toy  happens  to 
be  new.  What  on  earth  she  can  see  in  that 
real  dog  to  admire  I  cannot  discern.  He 
can't  bark  half  so  well  as  I  can  whistle,  and  I 
am  in  mortal  terror  of  him  all  the  time,  he 

eves   me   so   hungrily — but  now  he   is   her 

124 


UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   YEAR'S   RESOLUTIONS. 

favorite.  Everywhere  Mollie  goes  Gyp  goes, 
and  I'm  real  mad." 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Flaxilocks  ;  "  she'll 
get  tired  of  him  in  a  week  or  two  and  then 
she'll  take  us  up  again,  just  as  if  we  were 
new.  I've  been  around  other  Christmases 
and  I  know  how  things  work.  It'll  be  all 
right  in  a  little  while — that  is,  it  will  be  for 
you.  I  don't  know  how  it  is  going  to  turn 
out  with  me.  That  new  doll,  while  I  can  see 
many  defects  in  her,  which  you  can't,  I  can't 
deny  is  a  beauty,  and  her  earrings  are  much 
handsomer  than  mine.  It  may  be  that  I 
must  become  second  to  her;  but  you,  you 
needn't  play  second  fiddle  to  any  one,  for 
there  isn't  another  rubber  doll  with  a  whistle 
in  his  hat  in  the  house  to  rival  you." 

"Well,  I  wish  I  could  be  sure  of  that," 
said  Whistlebinkie,  mournfully,  "  I  can  see 
very  well  how  Mollie  can  love  you  as  well  as 
she  loves  me — but  that  real  dog,  bah !  He 
can't  even  whistle,  and  he's  awfully  destruc- 

125 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

tive.  Only  last  night  he  chewed  up  the 
calico  cat,  and  actually,  Mollie  laughed.  Do 
you  suppose  she  would  laugh  if  he  chewed 
me  up?" 

"  He  couldn't  chew  you  up,"  said  Flaxi- 
locks.  "You  are  rubber."  Whistlebinkie 
was  about  to  reply  to  this  when  his  fears 
were  set  at  rest  and  Flaxilocks  was  com- 
forted, for  Mollie  with  her  new  dog  and 
wax  doll  came  up  to  where  they  were  sit- 
ting and  introduced  her  new  pets  to  the  old 
ones. 

"  I  want  you  four  to  know  each  other,"  she 
said.  "We'll  have  lots  of  fun  together  this 
year,"  and  then  before  they  knew  it  Flaxi- 
locks and  the  new  doll  were  fast  friends,  and 
as  for  Whistlebinkie  and  Gyp,  they  became 
almost  inseparable.  Gyp  barked  and  Whis- 
tlebinkie whistled,  while  the  dolls  sat  holding 
each  other's  hands,  looking  if  anything  quite 
as  happy  as  Mollie  herself. 

"  What  do  you  all  say  to  making  a  call  on 

126 


UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   YEAR'S    RESOLUTIONS. 

the  Unwiseman  ?"  Mollie  said,  after  a  few 
minutes.  "We  ought  to  go  wish  him  a 
Happy  New  Year." 

"Simply  elegant,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie, 
and  Gyp  and  the  dolls  said  he  was  right,  and 
so  they  all  started  off  together. 


So  they  all  started  off  together. 

"Where  does  he  live?"  asked  the  new 
doll. 

"  All  around,"  said  Flaxilocks.  "  He  has  a 
house  that  moves  about.  One  day  it  is  in 
one  place  and  another  in  another." 

"But  how  do  you   find   it?"  queried  the 

new  doll. 

127 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"You  don't  have  to,"  whistled  Whistle- 
binkie.  "You  just  walk  on  until  you  run 
against  it,"-— and  just  as  he  spoke,  as  if  to 
prove  his  words,  bang !  he  ran  right  into  the 
gate.  "  Here  it  is  now,"  he  added. 

"  He  evidently  doesn't  want  to  see  any- 
body," said  Mollie,  noticing  a  basket  hanging 
from  the  front  door-knob.  "  He's  put  out  a 
basket  for  cards.  Dear  me!  I  wish  he'd  see 
us." 

"  Maybe  he  will,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  I'll 
ring  the  bell.  Hello!"  he  added  sharply,  as 
he  looked  into  the  basket ;  "  that's  queer. 
It's  chock-up  full  of  cards  now — somebody 
must  have  called." 

"  It  has  a  placard  over  it,"  said  Flaxilocks. 

"So  it  has,"  said  Mollie,  a  broad  smile 
brightening  her  face;  "and  it  says,  'Take 
one '  on  it.  What  does  he  mean  ?" 

"That  looks  like  your  card  on  top,"  said 
Flaxilocks. 

"Why  it  is  my  card,"  cried  Mollie,  "and 

128 


UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   YEAR'S    RESOLUTIONS. 

here  is  Whistlebinkie's  card  too.     We  haven't 
been  here." 

"  Of  course  you  haven't,"  said  a  voice  from 
behind  the  door.  "  But  you  are  here  now. 
I  knew  you  were  coming  and  I  was  afraid 
you'd  forget  to  bring  your  cards  with  you,  so 
I  took  some  of  your  old  ones  that  you  had 
left  here  before  and  put  'em  out  there  where 
you  could  get  them.  Ring  the  bell,  and  I'll 
let  you  in." 

Whistlebinkie  rang  the  bell  as  instructed, 
and  the  door  was  immediately  opened,  and 
there  stood  the  Unwiseman  waiting  to  wel- 
come them. 

"  Why,  dear  me !  What  a  delicious  sur- 
prise," he  said.  "Walk  right  in.  I  had  no 
idea  you  were  coming." 

"  We  came  to  wish  you  a  Happy  New 
Year,"  said  Mollie. 

"  That's  very  kind  of  you,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman, "very  kind,  indeed.     I  was  think-, 
ing  of  you  this  morning  when  I  was  making 
9  129 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

my  good  resolutions  for  the  New  Year.  I 
was  wondering  whether  I  ought  to  give  you 
up  with  other  good  things,  and  I  finally 
decided  not  to.  One  must  have  some  com- 
fort." 

"  Then  you  have  made  some  good  resolu- 
tions, have  you?"  said  Mollie. 

"Millions  of  'em,"  said  the  Unwiseman  ; 
"  and  I'm  going  to  make  millions  more.  One 
of  'em  is  that  I  won't  catch  cold  during  the 
coming  year.  That's  one  of  the  best  resolu- 
tions a  man  of  my  age  can  make.  Colds  are 
very  bad  things,  and  it  costs  so  much  to  be 
rid  of  them.  Why,  I  had  one  last  winter 
and  I  had  to  burn  three  cords  of  wood  to  get 
rid  of  it." 

"  Do  you  cure  a  cold  with  wood  ?"  asked 
Flaxilocks. 

"Why  not?"  returned  the  Unwiseman. 
"A  roaring  hot  fire  is  the  best  cure  for  cold 
I  know.  What  do  you  do  when  you  have  a 

cold,  sit  on  the  ice-box?" 

130 


UN  WISEMAN'S    NEW   YEAR'S    RESOLUTIONS. 


"  No,  I  take  medicine,"  said  Mollie.  "  Pills 
and  things." 

"  I  don't  like  pills,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"  They  don't  burn  well.  I  bought  some 
quinine  pills  to  cure  my  cold  three  winters 
ago,  and  they  just  sizzled  a  minute  when  I 
lit  them  and  went  out"  This  pleased  Gyp 
so  much  that  he  sprang  upon  the  piano  and 
wagged  his  tail  on  C  sharp  until  Mollie  made 
him  stop. 

"Another  resolution  I  made,"  continued 
the  Unwiseman,  "  was  to  open  that  piano. 
That's  why  it's  open  now.  I've  always  kept 
it  locked  before,  but  now  it  is  going  to  be 
open  all  the  time.  That'll  give  the  music  a 
chance  to  get  out ;  and  it's  a  good  thing  for 
pianos  to  get  a  little  fresh  air  once  in  a  while. 
It's  the  stale  airs  in  that  piano — airs  like 
Way  Down  Upon  the  Suwanee  River,  and 
Annie  McGinty,  and  tunes  like  that  that  have 
made  me  dislike  it." 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"Queerest  man  I  ever  saw!"  whispered 
the  new  doll  to  Flaxilocks. 

"  But  I  didn't  stop  there,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man.  "  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  wouldn't 
grow  any  older  this  year.  I'm  going  to  stay 
seven  hundred,  just  as  I  am  now,  always. 
Seven  hundred  is  old  enough  for  anybody, 
and  I'm  not  going  to  be  greedy  about  my 
years  when  I  have  enough.  Let  somebody 
else  have  the  years,  say  I." 

"Very  wise  and  very  generous,"  said  Mol- 
lie;  "but  I  don't  see  just  how  you  are  going 
to  manage  it." 

"  Me  neither,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie.  "I 
do'see  how  you're  going  to  do  that." 

"Simple  enough,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"  I've  stopped  the  clock." 

Gyp  turned  his  head  to  one  side  as  the  Un- 
wiseman spoke  and  looked  at  him  earnestly 
for  a  few  seconds,  and  then,  as  if  overcome 
with  mirth  at  the  idea,  he  rushed  out  of  the 


132 


UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   YEAR'S   RESOLUTIONS. 

door  and  chased    his  tail  around  the  house 

three  times. 

\ 

"What  an  extraordinary  animal  that  is," 
said  the  Unwiseman.  "  He  must  be  very 
young." 

"  He  is,"  said  Mollie.  "  He  is  nothing  but 
a  puppy." 

"  Well,  it  seems  to  me  he  wastes  a  good 
deal  of  strength,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"Why,  if  I  should  run  around  the  house  that 
way  three  times  I'd  be  so  tired  I'd  have  to 
hire  a  man  to  help  me  rest." 

"  Are  you  really  seven  hundred  years 
old?"  queried  the  new  doll,  who,  I  think, 
would  have  followed  Gyp's  example  and  run 
around  the  house  herself  if  she  had  thought 
it  was  dignified  and  was  not  afraid  of  spoil- 
ing her  new  three-button  shoes. 

"  I  don't  know  for  sure,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man, "but  I  fancy  I  must  be.  I  know  I'm 
over  sixty  because  I  was  born  seventy-three 
years  ago.  Seven  hundred  is  over  sixty,  and 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

so  for  the  sake  of  round  figures  I  have 
selected  that  age.  It's  rather  a  wonderful 
age,  don't  you  think  so?" 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  the  new  doll. 

"  But  then  you  are  a  wonderful  man,"  said 
Mollie. 

"  True,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  reflectively. 
"  I  am  wonderful.  Sometimes  I  spend  the 
whole  night  full  of  wonder  that  I  should  be 
so  wonderful.  I  know  so  much.  Why,  I 
can  read  French.  I  can't  understand  it,  but 
I  can  read  it  quite  as  well  as  I  can  English. 
I  can't  read  English  very  well,  of  course;  but 
then  I  only  went  to  school  one  day  and  that 
happened  to  be  a  holiday;  so  I  didn't  learn 
how  to  do  anything  but  take  a  day  off.  But 
we  are  getting  away  from  my  resolutions.  I 
want  to  tell  you  some  more  of  them.  I  have 
thought  it  all  over,  and  I  am  determined  that 
all  through  the  year  I  shall  eat  only  three 
meals  a  day  with  five  nibbles  between  times. 
I'm  going  to  give  up  water-melons,  which  I 


UNWISEMAN'S    NEW   YEAR'S    RESOLUTIONS. 


never  eat,  and  when  I  converse  with  anybody 
I  have  solemnly  promised  myself  never  to 
make  use  of  such  words  as  assafcedita,  peri- 
style, or  cosmopolis.  That  last  resolution  is 
a  great  sacrifice  for  me  because  I  am  very 
fond  of  long  words.  They  sound  so  learned; 
but  I  shall  be  firm.  Assafcedita,  peristyle, 
and  cosmopolis  until  next  year  dawns  shall 
be  dead  to  me.  I  may  take  them  on  again 
next  year ;  but  if  I  do,  I  shall  drop  Mulliga- 
tawney,  Portuguese,  and  pollywog  from  my 
vocabulary.  I  may  even  go  so  far  as  to 
drop  vocabulary,  although  it  is  a  word  for 
which  I  have  a  strong  affection.  I  am  so 
attached  to  vocabulary  as  a  word  that  I  find 
myself  murmuring  it  to  myself  in  the  dead 
of  night." 

"What  does  it  mean?"  asked  the  new 
doll.  . 

"  Vocabulary  ?"  cried  the  Unwiseman. 
"Vocabulary?  Don't  you  know  what  a  vo- 
cabulary is  ?" 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"I    know,"  said  Whistlebinkie.     "  It's   an 
animal  with  an  hump  on  its  back." 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "A 
vocabulary  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  It's  a — a 
sort  of  little  bureau  talkers  have  to  keep 
their  words  in.  It's  a  sort  of  word-cabinet. 
I  haven't  really  got  one,  but  that's  because 
I  don't  need  one.  I  have  so 
few  words  I  can  carry  them 
in  my  head,  and  if  I  can't,  I 


The  Unwiseman  drops  words  out  of  his  vocabulary. 

jot  them  down  on  a  piece  of  paper.     It's  a 
splendid  idea,  that.     It's  helped  me  lots  of 

136 


UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   YEAR'S   RESOLUTIONS. 

times  in  conversation.  I'm  as  fond  of  the 
word  microcosm  as  I  am  of  vocabulary,  too, 
but  I  never  can  remember  it,  so  I  keep  it  on 
a  piece  of  paper  in  my  vest-pocket.  When- 
ever I  want  to  use  it,  I  know  just  where  to 
find  it." 

"  And  what  does  microcosm  mean  ?"  asked 
Mollie. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  Unwiseman;  "but 
few  people  do ;  and  if  I  use  it,  not  one  per- 
son in  a  thousand  would  dare  take  me  up, 
so  I  just  sprinkle  it  around  to  suit  myself." 

As  the  Unwiseman  spoke,  the  postman 
came  to  the  door  with  a  letter. 

"Ah!"  said  the  Unwiseman,  opening  it 
and  reading  it.  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I 
must  leave  you  now.  I  have  an  engagement 
with  my  hatter  this  afternoon,  and  if  I  don't 
go  now  he  will  be  much  disappointed." 

"Is  that  letter  from  him?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  putting  on 
his  coat.  "  It  is  from  myself.  I  thought 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

about  the  engagement  last  night,  and  fearing 
that  I  might  forget  it  I  wrote  a  short  note  to 
myself  reminding  me  of  it.  This  is  the  note. 
Good-bye." 

"Good-bye,"  said  Mollie,  and  then,  as  the 
Unwiseman  went  off  to  meet  his  hatter,  she 
and  the  others  deemed  it  best  to  go  home. 

"  But  why  did  he  say  he  expected  you  to 
call  and  then  seemed  surprised  to  see  you  ?" 
asked  the  new  doll. 

"Oh— that's  his  way,"  said  Mollie.  "You'll 
get  used  to  it  in  time." 

But  the  new  doll  never  did,  for  she  was  a 
proud  wax-doll,  and  never  learned  to  love 
the  Unwiseman  as  I  do  for  his  sweet  sim- 
plicity and  never-ending  good  nature. 


138 


ground  was  white  with  snow  when 
Mollie  awakened  from  a  night  of  pleasant 
dreams.  The  sun  shone  brightly,  and  as  the 
little  girl  looked  out  of  her  bed-room  win- 
dow it  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  world  looked 
like  a  great  wedding-cake,  and  she  was  very 
much  inclined  to  go  out  of  doors  and  cut  a 
slice  out  of  it  and  gobble  it  up,  just  as  if  it 
were  a  wedding-cake  and  not  a  world. 

Whistlebinkie  agreed  with  her  that  that 
was  the  thing  to  do,  but  there  were  music- 
lessons  and  a  little  reading  to  be  done  before 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


Mollie  could  hope  to  venture  out,  and  as  for 
Whistlebinkie,  he  was  afraid  to  go  out  alone 
for  fear  of  getting  his  whistle  clogged  up 
with  snow.  Consequently  it  was  not  until 
after  luncheon  that  the  two  inseparable  com- 
panions, accompanied  by  Mollie's  new  dog, 
Gyp,  managed  to  get  out  of  doors. 

"Isn't  it  fine!"  cried  Mollie,  as  the  snow 
crunched  musically  under  her  feet. 

"  Tsplendid !"  wrhistled  Whistlebinkie. 

Gyp  took  a  roll  in  the  snow  and  gleefully 
barked  to  show  that  he  too  thought  it  wasn't 
half  bad. 

"  I  wonder  what  the  Unwiseman  is  doing 
this  morning,"  said  Mollie,  after  they  had 
romped  about  for  some  little  while. 

"  I  dare  say  he  is  throwing  snow-balls  at 
himself,"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  That's  about 
as  absurd  a  thing  as  any  one  can  do,  and 
he  can  always  be  counted  upon  to  be 
doing  things  that  haven't  much  sense  to 

'em." 

140 


THE  UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 

"  I've  half  a  mind  to  go  and  see  what  he's 
doing,"  said  Mollie. 

"  Let's,"  ejaculated  Whistlebinkie,  and  Gyp 
indicated  that  he  was  ready  for  the  call  by 
rushing  pell-mell  over  the  snow-encrusted 
lawn  in  the  direction  of  the  spot  where  the 
Unwiseman's  house  had  last  stood. 

"  Gyp  hasn't  learned  that  the  Unwiseman 
moves  his  house  about  every  day,"  said  Mol- 
lie. 

"  Dogs  haven't  much  sense,"  observed 
Whistlebinkie,  with  a  superior  air.  "  It  takes 
them  a  long  time  to  learn  things,  and  they 
can't  whistle." 

"That  they  haven't,"  came  a  voice  from 
behind  Whistlebinkie.  "That  little  beast 
has  destroyed  eight  lines  of  my  poem  with 
his  horrid  paws." 

Mollie  turned  about  quickly  and  there  was 
the  house  of  the  Unwiseman,  and  sitting  on 
the  door-step  was  no  less  a  person  than  the 

old   gentleman  himself,   gazing    ruefully   at 

141 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


some  rough,  irregular  lines  which  he  had 
traced  in  the  snow  with  a  stick,  and  which 
were  punctuated  here  and  there  by  what 
were  unmistakably  the  paw-marks  of  Gyp. 

"Why — hullo!"  said  Mollie;  "moved  your 
house  over  here,  have  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Unwiseman.  "There 
is  so  much  snow  on  the  ground  that  I  was 
afraid  it  would  prevent  your  coming  to  see 
me  if  I  let  the  house  stay  where  it  was,  and 
I  wanted  to  see  you  very  much." 

"  It  was  very  thoughtful  of  you,"  said  Mol- 
lie. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  can't  help  that,  you  know," 
said  the  Unwiseman.  "  I've  got  to  be  thought- 
ful in  my  new  business.  Thoughts  and  snow 
and  a  stick  are  things  I  can't  get  along  with- 
out, seeing  that  I  haven't  a  slate  or  pen,  ink 
and  paper,  in  the  house." 

"You've  got  a  new  business,  then,  have 
you?"  said  Mollie. 

"Yes,"  the  Unwiseman  answered.     "I  had 

142 


THE   UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 

to  have.  When  the  Christmas  toy  business 
failed  I  cast  about  to  find  some  other  that 
would  pay  for  my  eclaires.  My  friend  the 
hatter  wanted  me  to  go  in  with  him,  but 
when  I  found  out  what  he  wanted  me  to  do 
I  gave  it  up." 

"What  did  he  want  you  to  do?"  asked 
Mollie. 

"  Why,  there  is  a  restaurant  next  door  to 
his  place  where  two  or  three  hundred  men 
went  to  get  their  lunch  every  day,"  said  the 
Unwiseman.  "He  wanted  me  to  go  in  there 
and  carelessly  knock  their  hats  off  the  pegs 
and  step  on  them  and  spoil  them,  so  that 
they'd  have  to  call  in  at  his  shop  and  buy 
new  ones.  My  salary  was  to  be  fifteen  a 
week." 

"Fifteen  dollars?"  whistled  Whistlebinkie 
in  amazement,  for  to  him  fifteen  dollars  was 
a  princely  sum. 

"  No,"  returned  the  Unwiseman.  "  Fifteen 
eclaires,  and  I  was  to  do  my  own  fighting 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


with  the  ones  whose  hats  were  spoiled.  That 
wouldn't  pay,  because  before  the  end  of  the 
week  I'd  be  in  the  hospital,  and  I  am  told 
that  people  in  hospitals  are  not  allowed  to 
eat  eclaires." 

"And  so  you  declined  to  go  into  that 
business  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  Exactly," 

c?I3 


Unwiseman. 
badly  on  my 
home,  too.  I 
that  the  hat- 
to  employ  me 
strator." 


returned  the 
"  I  felt  very 
way  back 
had  hoped 
ter  wanted 
as  a  demon- 


"A  demonstrator.'' 


"A  what?"   cried 
Whistlebinkie. 

"  A  demonstrator,"  re- 
peated  the   Unwiseman.     "A   demonstrator 

144 


THE   UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 

is  one  who  demonstrates — a  sort  of  a  show- 
man. In  the  hat  business  he  would  be  a 
man  who  should  put  on  new  styles  of  hats 
so  as  to  show  people  how  people  looked 
in  them.  I  suggested  that  to  the  hatter, 
but  he  said  no,  it  wouldn't  do.  It  would 
make  customers  hopeless.  They  couldn't 
hope  to  look  as  well  in  his  hats  as  I  would, 
and  so  they  wouldn't  buy  them ;  and  as  he 
wasn't  in  the  hat  trade  for  pleasure,  he  didn't 
feel  that  he  could  afford  a  demonstrator  like 
me." 

"And  what  did  you  do  then?"  asked  Mol- 
lie. 

<(  I  was  so  upset  that  I  got  on  board  of  a 
horse-car  to  ride  home,  forgetting  that  the 
horse-cars  all  ran  the  other  way  and  that  I 
hadn't  five  cents  in  my  pocket.  That  came 
out  all  right  though.  I  didn't  have  to  walk 
any  further,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "The 
conductor  was  so  mad  when  he  found  out 

that  I  couldn't  pay  my  fare  that  he  turned 
10  145 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

the  car  around  and  took  me  back  to  the 
hatter's  again,  where  I'd  got  on.  It  was  a 
great  joke,  but  he  never  saw  it." 

And  the  Unwiseman  roared  with  laughter 
as  he  thought  of  the  joke  on  the  conductor, 
and  between  you  and  me,  I  don't  blame  him. 

"Well,  I  got  home  finally,  and  was  just 
about  to  throw  myself  down  with  my  head 
out  of  the  window  to  weep  when  I  had  an 
idea,"  continued  the  Unwiseman. 

"With  your  head  out  of  the  window?" 
echoed  Mollie.  "  What  on  earth  was  that  for  ?" 

"So  that  my  tears  wouldn't  fall  on  the 
carpet,  of  course,"  returned  the  Unwiseman. 
"  What  else  ?  I  always  weep  out  of  the 
window.  There  isn't  any  use  of  my  damp- 
ening the  house  up  and  getting  rheumatism 
just  because  it  happens  to  be  easier  to  weep 
indoors.  When  you're  as  old  as  I  am,  you 
have  to  be  careful  how  you  expose  yourself 
to  dampness.  Rheumatism  might  be  fun  for 

you,  because  you  can  stay  home  from  school, 

146 


"  I  always  weep  out  of  the  window."— Page  146. 


THE   UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 

and  be  petted  while  you  have  it,  but  for  me 
it's  a  very  serious  matter.  I  had  it  so  bad 
once  I  couldn't  lean  my  elbow  on  the  din- 
ner-table, and  it  spoiled  all  the  pleasure  of 
dining." 

"  Well — go  on  and  tell  us  what  your  idea 
was,"  said  Mollie,  with  difficulty  repressing 
a  smile.  "  Are  you  going  to  patent  your 
scheme  of  weeping  through  a  window?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  I'm 
willing  to  let  the  world  have  the  benefit  of 
my  discoveries,  and,  besides,  patenting  things 
costs  money,  and  you  have  to  send  in  a 
model  of  your  invention.  I  can't  afford  to 
build  a  house  and  employ  a  man  to  cry 
through  a  window  just  to  supply  the  govern- 
ment with  a  model.  My  idea  was  this.  As 
my  tears  fell  to  the  ground  my  ears  and  nose 
got  very  cold — almost  froze,  in  fact.  There 
was  the  scheme  in  a  nutshell.  Tears  rhyme 
with  ears,  nose  with  froze.  Why  not  write 
rhymes  for  the  comic  papers  ?" 

H7 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"Oho!"  said  Mollie;  "I  see.  You  are 
going  to  be  a  poet." 

"  That's  the  idea,"  said  the  Umviseman. 
"  There's  heaps  of  money  in  it.  I  know  a 
man  who  gets  a  dollar  a  yard  for  writing 
poetry.  If  I  can  write  ten  yards  of  it  a  week 
I  shall  make  eight  dollars  anyhow,  and 
maybe  ten.  All  shop-keepers  calculate  to 
have  remnants  of  their  stock  left  over,  and 
I've  allowed  two  yards  out  of  every  ten  for 
remnants.  The  chief  trouble  I  have  is  in 
finding  writing  materials.  I  haven't  any  pen 
and  ink ;  I  don't  own  any  slates ;  the  only 
paper  I  have  in  the  house  is  the  wall  paper 
and  a  newspaper,  and  I  can't  use  them,  be- 
cause the  wall  paper  is  covered  with  flowers 
and  the  newspaper  is  where  I  get  my  ideas — 
besides,  it's  all  the  library  I've  got.  I  didn't 
know  what  to  do  until  this  morning  when  I 
got  up  and  found  the  ground  all  covered 
with  snow.  Then  it  came  to  me  all  of  a 

sudden,  why  not  get  a  stick  and  write  your 

148 


THE   UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 

poems  on  the  snow,  and  then  maybe,  if  you 
have  luck,  you  call  sell  them  before  the  thaw. 
I  dressed  hurriedly  and  hastened  down-stairs, 
moved  the  house  up  near  yours,  so  that  I'd 
be  near  you  and  be  sure  to  see  you,  feeling 
confident  that  you  could  get  your  papa  to 
come  out  and  see  the  poems  and  maybe  buy 
them  for  his  paper.  Before  long  I  had  writ- 
ten thirty  yards  of  poetry,  and  just  as  I  had 
finished  what  I  thought  was  a  fair  day's  work, 
up  comes  that  horrid  Gyp  and  prances  the 
whole  thing  into  nothing." 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Whistlebinkie.  "  That 
was  too  bad." 

''Wasn't  it!"  sighed  the  Unwiseman.  "It 
was  such  a  beautifully  long  poem — and  what's 
more,  it  isn't  easy  work.  It's  almost  as  hard 
as  shoveling  snow,  only,  of  course,  you  get 
better  pay  for  it." 

"  You  can  rewrite  it,  can't  you  ?"  asked 
Mollie,  gazing  sadly  at  the  havoc  Gyp  had 

wrought  in  the  Unwiseman's  work. 

149 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  I  am  afraid   not,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"My  disappointment  has  driven  it  quite  out 
of  my  head.     I  can  only  remember  the  title." 
"What  did  you  call  it?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  It  was  a  simple 
little  title,"  replied 
the  Unwiseman. 
"  It  was  called  '  A 
Poem,  by  Me.'  " 


"  A  Poem,  by  Me." 

"  And  what  was  it  about  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  About  six  hundred  verses,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman;  "and  not  one  of  'em  has  escaped 
that  dog.  Those  that  he  hasn't  spoiled  with 
his  paws  he  has  wagged  his  tail  on,  and  he 

150 


THE   UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 


chose  the  best  one  of  the  lot  to  lie  on  his 
back  and  wiggle  on.  It's  very  discourag- 
ing." 

"  I'm  very  sorry,"  said  Mollie  ;  "and  if  you 
want  me  to  I'll  punish  Gyp." 

"  What  good  would  that  do  me  ?"  queried 
the  Unwiseman.  "  If  chaining  him  up  would 
restore  even  half  the  poem,  I'd  say  go  ahead 
and  chain  him  up  ;  but  it  won't.  The  poem's 
gone,  and  there's  nothing  left  for  me  to  do 
but  go  in  the  house  and  stick  my  head  out 
of  the  window  and  cry." 

"  Perhaps  you  can  write  another  poem," 
said  Mollie. 

"That's  true— I  hadn't  thought  of  that," 
said  the  Unwiseman.  "  But  I  don't  think 
I'd  better  to-day.  I've  lost  more  money  by 
the  destruction  of  that  first  poem  than  I  can 
afford.  If  I  should  have  another  ruined  to- 
day, I'd  be  bankrupt." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  said 
Mollie.  "  I'll  ask  papa  to  let  me  give  you  a 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

lead-pencil  and  a  pad  to  write  your  next 
poem  on.  How  will  that  do  ?" 

"  I  should  be  very  grateful,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman ;  "  and  if  with  these  he  could  give 
me  a  few  dozen  ideas  and  a  rhyming  diction- 
ary it  would  be  a  great  help." 

"  I'll  ask  him,"  said  Mollie.  "  I'll  ask  him 
right  away,  and  I  haven't  any  doubt  that  he'll 
say  yes,  because  he  always  gives  me  things  I 
want  if  they  aren't  harmful." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  And 
you  may  tell  him  for  me,  Miss  Whistlebinkie, 
that  I'll  show  him  how  grateful  I  am  to  him 
and  to  you  for  your  kind  assistance  by  letting 
him  have  the  first  thousand  yards  of  poetry 
I  write  for  his  paper  at  fifty  cents  a  yard, 
which  is  just  half  what  I  shall  make  other 
people  pay  for  them." 

And  so  Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  bade  the 
Unwiseman  good-by  jpr  the  time  being,  and 
went  home.  As  Mollie  had  predicted,  her 
father  was  very  glad  to  give  her  the  pencil 

'52 


THE   UNWISEMAN   TURNS   POET. 

and  the  pad  and  a  rhyming  dictionary ;  but 
as  he  had  no  ideas  to  spare  at  the  moment 


The  Unwiseman  becomes  a  poet. 

he  had  to  deny  the  little  maid  that  part  of  the 
request. 

What  the  Unwiseman  did  with  the  pad 
and  the  pencil  and  the  dictionary  I  shall  tell 
you  in  the  next  chapter. 


PIEMAN, 


_ 

w>ich  TX)ollie 

Idyome 
ren\arkabla 


days  after  he  had  received 
the  pencil  and  pad  and  rhyming  dictionary 
from  Mollie,  the  Unwiseman  wrote  to  his 
little  benefactress  and  asked  her  to  visit  him 
as  soon  as  she  could. 

"  I've  written  eight  pounds  of  poetry,"  he 
said  in  his  letter,  "  and  I'd  like  to  know  what 
you  think  of  some  of  it.  I've  given  up  the 
idea  of  selling  it  by  the  yard  because  it  uses  up 
so  much  paper,  and  I'm  going  to  put  it  out 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


at  a  dollar  a  pound.  If  you  wouldn't  mind, 
I'd  like  to  have  you  tell  your  papa  about 
this  and  ask  him  if  he  hasn't  any  heavier 
paper  than  the  lot  he  sent  me.  If  he  could 
let  me  have  a  million 
sheets  of  paper  twice 
as  heavy  as  the  other 
I  could  write  a  pound 
of  sonnits  in  half 
the  time,  and 
could  accord- 
ingly afford  to 
give  them  to 
him  a  little 
cheaper  for 
use  in  his  newspaper 
to  see  you  last  night,  but  somehow  or  other 
my  house  got  moved  out  to  Illinois,  which 
was  too  far  away.  It  is  back  again  in  New 
York  this  morning,  however,  so  that  you 
won't  find  any  trouble  in  getting  him  to  see 
the  poetry,  and,  by  the  way,  while  I  think 

156 


"  Ive  written  eight    pounds 
of  poetry !" 

I'd  have   been    up 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

of  it,  I  wish  you'd  ask  your  papa  if  Illinois 
rhymes  with  boy  or  boys.  I  want  to  write  a 
poem  about  Illinois,  but  I  don't  know  whether 
to  begin  it  with 

"  '  O,  the  boys, 
Of  Illinois, 
They  utterly  upset  my  equipoise '; 

"  '  0,  thou  boy, 
Of  Illinois! 
My  peace  of  mind  thou  dust  destroy? 

"  You  see,  my  dear,  it  is  important  to  know 
at  the  start  whether  you  are  writing  about 
one  boy  or  several  boys ;  and  that  rhyming 
dictionary  you  sent  me  doesn't  say  anything 
about  such  a  contiguity.  You  might  ask 
him,  too,  what  is  the  meaning  of  contiguity. 
It's  a  word  I  admire,  and  I  want  to  work  it 
in  somewhere  where  it  will  not  only  look 
well,  but  make  a  certain  amount  of  sense. 

"  Yoors  tooly, 

"  ME." 

It  was  hardly  to  be  expected,  after  an  invi- 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

tation  of  this  sort,  that  Mollie  should  delay 
visiting  the  Unvviseman  for  an  instant,  so 
summoning  Whistlebinkie  and  Gyp,  she  and 
her  two  little  friends  started  out,  and  ere 
long  they  caught  sight  of  the  Unwiseman's 
house,  standing  on  one  corner  of  the  village 
square,  and  in  front  of  it  was  a  peculiar  look- 
ing booth,  something  like  a  banana-stand  in 
its  general  outlines.  This  was  covered  from 
top  to  bottom  with  placards,  which  filled 
Mollie  with  uncontrollable  mirth,  when  she 
saw  what  was  printed  on  them.  Here  is 
what  some  of  them  said : 


GO  TO  ME'S  FOR  POTERY. 


This  was  the  most  prominent  of  the  pla- 
cards, and  was  nailed  to  the  top  of  the  booth. 
On  the  right  side  of  this  was : 


LISENSED   TO   SELL  SONNITS 
ON  THE  PREMISSES. 

158 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

Off  to  the  left,  printed   in   red   crayon,  the 
curious  old  man  had  tacked  this  : 


EPIKS   WROTE  WHILE 
YOU   WEIGHT. 


Besides  these  signs,  on  the  counter  of  this 
little  stand  were  arranged  a  dozen  or  more 
piles  of  manuscript,  and  behind  each  of  these 
piles  were  short  sticks  holding  up  small  cards 
marked  "five  cents  an  ounce,"  "ten  cents  a 
pound,"  and  back  of  all  a  larger  card,  which 
read : 


SPESHUL   DISSCOUNTS  TO   ALL 

COSTUMERS  ORDERING 

BY   THE   TUN. 


"This  looks  like  business,"  said  Whistle- 
binkie. 

"Yes,"  said  Mollie,  with  a  laugh.  "Like 
the  peanut  business." 

Gyp  said  nothing  for  a  moment,  but  after 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

sniffing  it  all  over  began  to  growl  at  a  plac- 
ard at  the  base  of  the  stand  on  which  was 
drawn  by  the  Unwiseman's  unmistakable 
hand  the  picture  of  two  small  dogs  playing 
together  with  a  line  to  this  effect : 


DOGGERELL  A  SPESHIALITY. 


As  Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  were  reading 
these  signs  the  door  of  the  Unwiseman's 
house  was  opened  and  the  proprietor  ap- 
peared. He  smiled  pleasantly  when  he  saw 
who  his  visitors  were,  although  if  Mollie  had 
been  close  enough  to  him  to  hear  it  she 
might  have  noticed  that  he  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"I  didn't  recognize  you  at  first,"  he  said; 
"  I  thought  you  might  be  customers,  and  I 
delayed  coming  out  so  that  you  wouldn't 
think  I  was  too  anxious  to  sell  my  wares. 
Of  course,  I  am  very  anxious  to  sell  'em,  but 
it  don't  do  to  let  the  public  know  that.  Let 

'em  understand  that  you  are  willing  to  sell 

1 60 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


and  they'll  very  likely  buy;  but  if  you  come 
tumbling  out  of  your  house  pell-mell  every 
time  anybody  stops  to  see  what  you've  got 
they'll  think  maybe  you  aren't  well  off,  and 
they'll  either  beat  you  down  or  not  buy  at 
all." 

"Aren't  you  afraid  of  being  robbed 
though?"  Mollie  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  wouldn't  mind  being  robbed,"  re- 
plied the  Unwiseman.  "  It  would  be  a  good 
thing  for  me  if  somebody  would  steal  a 
pound  or  two  of  my  poems.  That  would 
advertise  my  business.  I  can't  afford  to 
advertise  my  business,  but  if  I  should  be 
robbed  it  would  be  news,  and,  of  course,  the 
newspapers  would  be  full  of  it.  Your  father 
doesn't  know  of  any  kind-hearted  burglar 
who's  temporarily  out  of  work  who'd  be 
willing  to  rob  a  poor  man  without  charge 
does  he?" 

"No,"   said    Mollie,  "I   don't   think   papa 

knows  any  burglars  at  all.     We  have  literary 
ii  161 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


men,  and  editors,  and  men  like  that  visiting 
the  house  all  the  time,  but  so  far  we  haven't 

had  any  burglars." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  trust  to  luck 
for  'em,"  sighed  the 
Unwiseman ;  "  though 
it  would  be  a  great 
thing  if  an  extra  should 
come  out  with  great 


"The  newspapers  would  be  full  of  it." 

big  black  headlines,  and  newsboys  yelling 
'em  out  all  over  the  country,  '  The  Unwise- 
man's  Potery  Stand  Visited  by  Burglars! 
Eight  Pounds  of  Triolets  Missing!  The 
Police  on  the  Track  of  the  Plunderers !'  ' 

162 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  It  would  be  a  splendid  advertisement," 
said  Mollie.  "  But  I'm  afraid  you'll  be  a  long 
time  getting  it.  Have  you  any  poems  to 
show  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  running  his 
eye  over  his  stock.  "  Yes,  indeed,  I  have. 
Here's  one  I  like  very  much.  Shall  I  read 
it  to  you?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will,"  said  Mollie.  "What  is 
it  about?" 

"  It's  about  three  dozen  to  the  pound,  the 
way  I  weigh  it,"  replied  the  Unwiseman. 
"  It's  called  '  My  Wish,  and  Why  I  Wish 
It.'  " 

"That's  an  awfully  long  name,  isn't  it?" 
said  Mollie. 

"Yes,  but  it  makes  the  poem  a  little 
heavier,"  replied  the  old  man.  "  I've  made 
up  a  little  for  its  length,  too,  by  making  the 
poem  short.  It's  only  a  quartrain.  Here's 
how  it  goes : 


163 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  /  wish  the  sun  would  shine  at  night, 

Instead  of  in  the  day,  dear, 
For  that  would  make  the  evenings  bright, 
And  day  time  would  be  shadier" 

"Why,  that  isn't  bad!"  cried  Mollie. 

"  No,"  returned  the  Unwiseman.  "  I  didn't 
try  to  make  it  bad,  though  I  could  have  if  I'd 
wanted  to.  But  there's  a  great  thing  about 
the  thought  in  that  poem,  and  if  you'll  only 
look  into  it  you'll  see  how  wonderful  it  is. 
It  can  be  used  over  and  over  again  without 
anybody's  ever  noticing  that  it's  been  used 
before.  Here's  another  poem  with  just  the 
same  idea  running  through  it: 

"  /  wish  the  oceans  all  were  dry, 

And  arid  deserts  were  not  land,  dear, 
If  we  could  walk  on  oceans — My  ! 

And  sail  on  deserts,  'twould  be  handier." 

"  How  is  that  the  same  idea?"  asked  Mol- 
lie, a  little  puzzled  to  catch  the  Unwiseman's 

point. 

164 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


"  Why,  the  whole  notion  is  that  you  wish 
things  were  as  they  aren't,  that's  all ;  and 
when  you  consider  how  many  things  there 
are  in  the  world  that  are  as  they  are  and 
aren't  as  they  aren't,  you  get  some  notion  as 
to  how  many  poems  you  can  make  out  of 
that  one  idea.  For  instance,  children  hate 
to  go  to  bed  at  night,  preferring  to  fall 
asleep  on  the  library  rug.  So  you  might 
have  this : 

"  /  wish  that  cribs  were  always  rugs, 

'  Tw  on  Id  fill  me  chock  up  with  delight, 
For  then,  like  birds  and  tumble-bugs, 
I'd  like  to  go  to  bed  at  night" 

"Tumble-bugs  don't  like  to  go  to  bed  at 
night,"  said  Mollie.  "They  like  to  buzz 
around  and  hit  their  heads  against  the  wall." 

"  I  know  that ;  but  I  have  two  excuses  for 
using  tumble-bugs  in  that  rhyme.  In  the 
first  place,  I  haven't  written  that  rhyme  yet, 
and  so  it  can't  be  criticized.  It's  only  what 

165 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

the  dictionary  people  would  call  extempori- 
ous.  I  made  it  up  on  the  spur  of  the  mo- 
ment, and  from  that  standpoint  it's  rather 
clever.  The  other  excuse  is  that  even  if  I 
had  written  it  as  I  spoke  it,  poets  are  allowed 
to  say  things  they  don't  exactly  mean,  as 
long  as  in  general  they  bring  out  their  idea 
clearly  enough  to  give  the  reader  something 
to  puzzle  over." 

"Well,  I  suppose  you  know  what  you 
mean,"  said  Mollie,  more  mystified  than  ever. 
"  Have  you  got  any  more  poems  ?" 

"Yes.  Here's  a  new  bit  of  Mother  Goose 
I've  dashed  off: 

"  Namby  Pamby  sat  on  the  fence, 
Namby  Pamby  tumbled  from  thence. 
Half  the  queen's  donkeys,  her  dog,  and  her  cat, 
Could  not  restore  Namby  to  where  he  was  at" 

"Why!"  cried  Mollie.  "You  can't  write 
that.  It's  nothing  but  Humpty  Dumpty  all 

over  again." 

1 66 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  You're   all   wrong   there,"    retorted    the 
Unwiseman.     "And    I    can    prove   it.     You 


"Could  not  restore  Namby  to  where  he  was  at." 

say  that   I   can't  write   that.     Well,  I  have 

167 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

written  it,  which  proves  that  I  can.  As  for 
its  being  Humpty  Dumpty  all  over  again, 
that's  plain  nonsense.  Namby  Pamby  is  not 
Humpty  Dumpty.  Namby  Pamby  begins 
with  an  N  and  a  P,  while  Humpty  Dumpty 
begins  with  H  and  D.  Then,  again,  Humpty 
Dumpty  sat  on  a  wall.  My  hero  sat  on  a 
fence.  Humpty  Dumpty  fell.  Namby  Pamby 
tumbled — and  so  it  goes  all  through  the 
poem.  Mine  is  entirely  different.  Besides, 
it's  a  hysterical  episode,  and  I've  got  just  as 
much  right  to  make  poems  about  hystery  as 
Mother  Goose  had." 

"  Maybe  you're  right,"  said  Mollie.  "  But 
if  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  write  things  that 
are  too  much  like  what  other  people  have 
written." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  said  the  Unwiseman, 
impatiently.  "  If  Peter  Smith  writes  a  poem 
that  everybody  likes  and  buys,  I  want  to 
write  something  as  much  like  what  Peter 

Smith  has  made  a  fortune  out  of  as  Peter 

1 68 


THE   POEMS  OF  THE  UXWISEMAX. 


Smith  has.  That's  the  point  But  we  won't 
quairel  about  it  Girls  don't  know  much 
about  business,  and  men  do.  I'm  a  man  and 
you're  only  a  girL" 

"Well,   I    think    Mollie's    right,"   put  in 
Whistiebinkie. 

"You  have  to,"  retorted 
the  Unwiseman.  "If  you 
didn't,  she'd  pack  you  up 
in  a  box  and  send  you  out 
to  the  sheathen." 

"The  what?"  asked  Mol- 
lie. 

"The  sheathen.  Little 
girl  savages.  I  call 


em 

sheathen  to  extinguish  them 

from   heathen,  who   are,  as 

I   understand  it,  little  boy 

savages,"      explained     the 

Unwiseman.     "But  what  do  you   think  of 

this  for  a  poem.     It's  called.  Night,  and  you 

mustn't  laugh  at  it  because  it  is  serious : 

169 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  Oh  night,  dear  night,  in  street  and  park, 
Where'er  tkou  beest  thou'rt  always  dark. 
Thou  dustcnt  change,  O  sweet  brunette, 
No  figgleness  is  thine,  you  bet. 
And  what  I  love  the  best,  on  land  or  sea, 
Is  absence  of  the  ^>ice  of  figglety" 

"What's  figglety?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  Figglety  ?"  echoed  the  Unwiseman. 
"Don't  you  know  that?  Figglety  is  figgle- 
ness,  or  the  art  of  being  figgle." 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  being  figgle  is," 
said  Mollie. 

"  Hoh !"  sneered  the  Unwiseman,  angry  at 
Mollie's  failure  to  understand  and  to  admire 
his  serious  poem.  "Where  have  you  been 
brought  up  ?  Figgle  is  changing.  If  you 
pretend  to  like  pie  to-day  better  than  any- 
thing, and  change  around  to  pudding  to-mor- 
row, you  are  figgle.  Some  people  spell  it 
fickle,  but  somehow  or  other  I  like  figgle 
better.  It's  a  word  of  my  own,  figgle  is, 

while  fickle  is  a  word  everybody  uses — but  I 

170 


THE   POEMS   OF   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

won't  argue  with  you  any  more,"  he  added 
with  an  impatient  gesture.  "  You've  found 
fault  with  almost  everything  I've  done,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  read  any  more  to  you.  It's 
discouraging  enough  to  have  people  pass 
you  by  and  not  buy  your  poems,  without 
reading  'em  to  a  little  girl  that  finds  fault 
with  'em,  backed  up  in  her  opinion  by  a 
pug  dog  and  a  rubber  doll  like  Whistle- 
binkie.  Some  time,  when  you  are  better 
natured,  I'll  read  more  to  you,  but  now  I 
won't." 

Saying  which,  the  Unwiseman  turned  away 
and  walked  into  his  house,  banging  the  door 
behind  him  in  a  way  which  plainly  showed 
that  he  was  offended. 

Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  and  Gyp  went 
silently  home,  very  unhappy  about  the  Un- 
wiseman's  temper,  but,  though  they  did  not 
know  it,  they  were  very  fortunate  to  get  away 
before  the  Unwiseman  discovered  that  the 

mischievous    Gyp    had    chewed    up    three 

171 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISKMAN. 

pounds  of  sonnets  while  their  author  was 
reading  his  poem  "  Night,"  so  that  on  the 
whole,  I  think,  they  were  to  be  congratulated 
that  things  turned  out  as  they  did. 


s 


172 


Mollie,  one  morning 
in  the  early  spring,  "  it's  been  an  awful  long 
time  since  we  saw  the  Unwiseman." 

"Thasso,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie.  "I 
wonder  what's  become  of  him." 

"  I  can't  even  guess,"  said  Mollie.  "  I 
asked  papa  the  other  morning  if  he  had  seen 
any  of  his  poetry  in  print  and  he  said  he 
hadn't  so  far  as  he  knew,  although  he  had 
read  several  books  of  poetry  lately  that 


MOLLIE   AND    THE   UNWISEMAN. 

sounded  as  if  he'd  written  them.     I  say  we 
go  out  and  try  to  find  him." 

"  Thasoots  me,"  said  Whistlebinkie. 

"What's  that?"  said  Mollie.  "You  still 
talk  through  the  top  of  your  hat  so  much 
that  I  really  can't  make  out  what  you  say 
half  the  time." 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Whistlebinkie,  meekly. 
"What  I  meant  to  say  was  that  that  suits 
me.  I'd  like  very  much  to  see  him  again 
and  hear  some  of  his  poetry." 

•  "  I  don't  much  think  he's  stayed  in  that 
business,"  observed  Mollie.  "  He's  had  time 
enough  to  be  in  sixteen  different  kinds  of 
businesses  since  we  saw  him,  and  I'm  pretty 
certain  that  he's  tried  eight  of  them  any  how." 

"  I  guess  may  be  so,"  said  Whistlebinkie. 
"  He's  a  great  tryer,  that  old  Unwiseman." 

Mollie  donned  her  new  spring  hat  and 
Whistlebinkie  treated  his  face  and  hands  to 
a  dash  of  cold  water,  after  which  they  started 
out. 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S    LUNCHEON. 

"It's  the  same  old  question  now,"  said 
Mollie,  as  she  stood  on  the  street  corner, 
wondering  which  way  to  turn.  "Where 
would  we  better  go  to  find  him  ?" 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me,"  said  Whistlebin- 
kie,  after  a  moment's  thought,  "  it  seems  to 
me  that  we'd  better  look  for  him  in  just  the 
same  place  he  was  in  the  last  time  we  saw 
him." 

"  I  don't  see  why,"  returned  Mollie.  "We 
never  did  that  before." 

"That's  why,"  explained  Whistlebinkie. 
"  He's  such  an  unaccountable  old  man  that 
he's  sure  to  turn  up  where  you  least  expected 
him.  Now,  as  I  look  at  it,  the  place  where 
we  least  expect  to  find  him  is  where  he  was 
before.  Therefore  I  say  let's  go  there." 

"  You're  pretty  wise  after  all,  Whistlebin- 
kie," said  Mollie,  with  an  approving  nod. 
"We'll  go  there." 

And  it  turned  out  that  Whistlebinkie  was 
right. 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


The  house  of  the  Unwiseman  was  found 
standing  in  precisely  the  same  place  in  which 
they  had  last  seen  it,  but  pasted  upon  the 
front  door  was  a  small  placard  which  read, 
"Gawn  to  Lunch.  Will  be  Back  in  Eight 
Weeks." 

"  Dear  me  !"  cried  Whistlebinkie,  as  Mollie 
read  the  placard  to  him.  "He  must  have 


"  He  must  be  fearfully  hungry  to  go  to  a  lunch   it  will  take  that 
long  to  eat." 

been  fearfully  hungry  to  go  to  a  lunch  it  will 

take  that  long  to  eat." 

176 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S    LUNCHEON. 

Mollie  laughed.  "  I  guess  maybe  I  know 
him  well  enough  to  know  what  that  means," 
she  said.  "  It  means  that  he's  inside  the 
house  and  doesn't  want  to  be  bothered  by 
anybody.  Let's  go  round  to  the  back  door 
and  see  if  that  is  open." 

This  was  no  sooner  said  than  done,  but 
the  back  door,  like  the  first,  was  closed. 
Like  the  front  door,  too,  it  bore  a  placard, 
but  this  one  read,  "  As  I  said  before,  I've 
gone  to  lunch.  If  you  want  to  know  when 
I'll  be  back,  don't  bother  about  ringing  the 
bell  to  ask  me,  for  I  shall  not  answer.  Go 
round  to  the  front  door  and  find  out  for 
yourself.  Yours  tooly,  the  Unwiseman. 
P.  S.  I've  given  up  the  potery  business,  so 
if  you're  a  editor,  I  don't  want  to  see  you 
any  how ;  but  if  your  name's  Mollie,  knock 
on  the  kitchen  window  and  I'll  let  you  in." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Mollie.  "He's  in- 
side." 

Then  the  little  girl  tiptoed  softly  up  to  the 

12  177 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

kitchen  window  and  peeped  in,  and  there  the 
old  gentleman  sat  nibbling  on  a  chocolate 
eclaire  and  looking  as  happy  as  could  be. 

Mollie  tapped  gently  on  the  window,  and 
the  Unwiseman,  hurriedly  concealing  his  half- 
eaten  eclaire  in  the  folds  of  his  newspaper, 
looked  anxiously  toward  the  window  to  see 
who  it  might  be  that  had  disturbed  him. 
When  he  saw  who  it  was  his  face  wreathed 
with  smiles,  and  rushing  to  the  window  he 
threw  it  wide  open. 

"Come  right  in,"  he  cried.  "I'm  awfully 
glad  to  see  you." 

"  I  can't  climb  in  this  way,"  said  Mollie. 
"Can't  you  open  the  door?" 
•  "Can't  possibly,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"Both  doors  are  locked.  I've  lost  the  keys. 
You  can't  open  doors  without  keys,  you 
know.  That's  why  I  lost  them.  I'm  safe 
from  burglars  now." 

"  But  why  don't  you  get  new  keys  ?"  said 

Mollie. 

178 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S   LUNCHEON. 


"  What's  the  use  ?  I  know  where  I  lost 
the  others,  and  when  my  eight  weeks'  absence 
is  up  I  can  find  them  again.  New  keys 
would  only  cost  money,  and  I'm  not  so  rich 
that  I  can  spend  money  just  for  the  fun  of  it," 
said  the  Unwiseman. 

"Then,  I  suppose,  I  can't  come  in  at  all," 
said  Mollie. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  can,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"  Have  you  an  Alpine  stock?" 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Mollie. 

"Ho!"  jeered  the  Unwiseman.  "What's 
an  Alpine  stock !  Ha,  ha !  Not  to  know 
that;  I  thought  little  girls  knew  everything." 

"Well,  they  do  generally,"  said  Mollie, 
resolved  to  stand  up  for  her  kind.  "  But  I'm 
not  like  all  little  girls.  There  are  some 
things  I  don't  know." 

"I  guess  there  are,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man, with  a  superior  air.  "  You  don't  know 
what  rancour  means,  or  fixity,  or  garrulous- 
ness." 

179 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"No,  I  don't,"  Mollie  admitted.  "What 
do  they  mean  ?" 

"  I'm  not  in  the  school-teacher  business, 
and  so  I  shan't  tell  you,"  said  the  Unwise- 
man,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand.  "  Besides,  I 
really  don't  know  myself — though  I'm  not  a 
little  girl.  But  I'll  tell  you  one  thing.  An 
Alpine  stock  is  a  thing  to  climb  Alps  with, 
and  a  thing  you  can  climb  an  Alp  with  ought 
to  help  you  climbing  into  a  kitchen  window, 
because  kitchen  windows  aren't  so  high  as 
Alps,  and  they  don't  have  snow  on  'em  in 
spring  like  Alps  do." 

"Oh,"  said  Mollie.  "That's  it— is  it? 
Well,  I  haven't  got  one,  and  I  don't  know 
where  to  get  one,  so  I  can't  get  in  that  way." 

"Then  there's  only  two  things  we  can  do," 
observed  the  Unwiseman.  "  Either  I  must 
send  for  a  carpenter  and  have  him  build  a 
new  door  or  else  I'll  have  to  lend  you  a  step- 
ladder.  I  guess,  on  the  whole,  the  step- 
ladder  is  cheaper.  It's  certainly  not  so  noisy 

1 80 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S    LUNCHEON. 

as  a  carpenter.  However,  I'll  let  you  choose. 
Which  shall  it  be  ?" 

"The  step-ladder,  I  guess,"  said  Mollie. 
"  Have  you  got  one  ?" 

"  No,"  returned  the  Unwiseman ;  "  but  I 
have  a  high-chair  which  is  just  as  good.  I 
always  keep  a  high-chair  in  case  some  one 
should  bring  a  baby  here  to  dinner.  I'd 
never  ask  any  one  to  do  that,  but  unexpected 
things  are  always  happening,  and  I  like  to  be 
prepared.  Here  it  is." 

Saying  which  the  Unwiseman  produced  a 
high-chair  and  lowered  it  to  the  ground. 
Upon  this  Mollie  and  Whistlebinkie  climbed 
up  to  the  window-ledge,  and  were  shortly 
comfortably  seated  inside  this  strange  old 
man's  residence. 

"  I  see  you've  given  up  the  poetry  busi- 
ness," said  Mollie,  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "  I  couldn't 
make  it  pay.  Not  that  I  couldn't  sell  all  I 

could  write,  but  that  I  couldn't  write  all  that 

181 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

I  could  sell.  You  see,  people  don't  like  to 
be  disappointed,  and  I  had  to  disappoint 
people  all  the  time.  I  couldn't  turn  out  all 
they  wanted.  Two  magazine  editors  sent  in 
orders  for  their  winter  poetry.  Ten  tons 
apiece  they  ordered,  and  I  couldn't  deliver 
more  than  two  tons  apiece  to  'em.  That 
made  them  mad,  and  they  took  their  trade 
elsewhere — and  so  it  went.  I  disappointed 
everybody,  and  finally  I  found  myself  writing 
poetry  for  my  own  amusement,  and  as  it 
wasn't  as  amusing  as  some  other  things,  I 
gave  it  up." 

"  But  what  ever  induced  you  to  put  out 
that  sign,  saying  that  you  wouldn't  be  back 
for  eight  weeks  ?"  asked  Mollie. 

"  I  didn't  say  that,"  said  the  Unwiseman. 
"  I  said  I  wozdd  be  back  in  eight  weeks.  I 
shall  be.  What  I  wanted  was  to  be  able  to 
eat  my  lunch  undisturbed.  I've  been  eating 
it  for  five  weeks  now,  and  at  the  end  of  three 

weeks  I  shall  be  through." 

182 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S   LUNCHEON. 

"It  musterbin  a  big  lunch,"  said  Whistle- 
binkie. 

"  I  don't  know  any  such  word  as  muster- 
bin,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  severely;  "but  as 
for  the  big  lunch,  it  was  big.  One  whole 
eclaire." 

"  I  could  eat  an  eclaire  in  five  seconds," 
said  Mollie. 

"  No  doubt  of  it,"  retorted  the  Unwiseman. 
"  So  could  I ;  but  I  know  too  much  for  that. 
I  believe  in  getting  all  the  enjoyment  out  of 
a  thing  that  I  can ;  and  what's  the  sense  of 
gobbling  all  the  pleasure  out  of  an  eclaire  in 
five  seconds  when  you  can  spread  it  over, 
eight  weeks  ?  That's  a  queer  thing  about 
you  wise  people  that  I  can't  understand. 
When  you  have  something  pleasant  on  hand 
you  go  scurrying  through  it  as  though  you 
were  afraid  somebody  was  going  to  take  it 
away  from  you.  You  don't  make  things  last 
as  you  should  ought  to." 

"  Excuse   me,"  interrupted  Whistlebinkie, 

183 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

who  had  been  criticized  so  often  about  the 
way  he  spoke,  that  he  was  resolved  to  get 
even.  "  Is  '  should  ought  to  '  a  nice  way  to 
speak?" 

"It's  nice  enough  for  me,"  retorted  the 
Unwiseman.  "And  as  this  is  my  house  I 
have  a  right  to  choose  the  language  I  speak 
here.  If  you  want  to  speak  some  other 
language,  you  can  go  outside  and  speak  it." 

Poor  Whistlebinkie  squeaked  out  an  apol- 
ogy and  subsided. 

"Take  bananas,  for  instance,"  said  the  Un- 
wiseman, not  deigning  to  notice  Whistle- 
binkie's  apology.  "  I  dare  say  if  your  mother 
gives  you  a  banana,  you  go  off  into  a  corner 
and  gobble  it  right  up.  Now  I  find  that  a 
nibble  tastes  just  as  good  as  a  bite,  and  by 
nibbling  you  can  get  so  many  more  tastes 
out  of  that  banana,  as  nibbles  are  smaller 
than  bites,  and  instead  of  a  banana  lasting  a 
week,  or  two  weeks  or  eight  weeks,  it's  all 

gone   in    ten   seconds.     You    might  do   the 

184 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S    LUNCHEON. 


same  thing  at  the  circus  and  be  as  sensible 
as  you  are  when  you  gobble  your  banana. 
If  the  clown  cracked  his  jokes  and  the  trape- 
zuarius  trapozed,  and  the  elephants  danced, 
and  the  bare-back  riders  rode  their  horses  all 
at  once, 
you'd  have 
just  as  much 
circus  as  you  get 
the  way  you  do 
it  now,  only  it 
wouldn't  be  so 
pleasant  Pleas- 
ure, after  all,  is 
like  butter,  and 
it  ought  to  be 
spread.  You 

wouldn't  think  of  eating  a  whole  pat  of  butter 
at  one  gulp,  so  why  should  you  be  greedy 
about  your  pleasure  ?" 

"Thassounds  very  sensible,"  put  in  Whis- 
tlebinkie. 

185 


Pleasure  ought  to  be  spread." 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

"  It  is  sensible,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  with 
a  kindly  smile ;  "  and  that  is  why,  having  but 
one  eclaire,  I  make  it  last  me  eight  weeks. 
There  isn't  any  use  of  living  like  a  prince 
for  five  minutes  and  then  starving  to  death 
for  seven  weeks,  six  days,  twenty-three  hours, 
and  fifty-five  minutes." 

Here  the  Unwiseman  opened  the  drawer 
of  his  table  and  took  out  the  eclaire  to  show 
it  to  Mollie. 

"  It  doesn't  look  very  good,"  said  Mollie. 

"That's  true,"  said  the  Unwiseman;  "but 
that  helps.  It's  awfully  hard  work  the  first 
day  to  keep  from  nibbling  it  up  too  fast,  but 
the  second  day  it's  easier,  and  so  it  goes  all 
along  until  you  get  to  the  fourth  week,  and 
then  you  don't  mind  only  taking  a  nibble. 
If  it  stayed  good  all  the  while,  I  don't  believe 
I  could  make  it  last  as  long  as  I  want  to. 
So  you  see  everything  works  for  good  under 
my  system  of  luncheoning.  In  the  first  place, 

the  pleasure  of  a  thing  lasts  a  long  time ;  in 

1 86 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S   LUNCHEON. 


the  second, you  learn  to  resist  temptation;  in 
the  third  place,  you 
avoid  greediness ;  and 
last  of  all,  after  a  while 
you  don't  mind  not  be- 
ing greedy." 

With  this  the  old  gen- 
tleman put  the  eclaire 
away,  locked  the  drawer, 
and  began  to  tell  Mollie 
and  Whistlebinkie  all 
about  the  new  business 

"  The  old  gentleman  put  the  eclaire 

he  was  going  into.  away." 


187 


have  at  last  found  something  to  do," 
he  said,  as  he  locked  the  eclaire  up  in  the 
drawer,  "which  will  provide  me  in  my  old 
age  with  all  the  eclaires  I  need,  with  possibly 
one  or  two  left  over  for  my  friends." 

"  Thassnice,"  whistled  Whistlebinkie. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "It's  very 
nice,  particularly  if  you  are  one  of  my 
friends,  and  come  in  for  your  share  of  the 

189 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

left-over  eclaires — as,  of  course,  you  and 
Mollie  will  do.  It  all  grew  out  of  my 
potery  business,  too.  You  see,  I  didn't  find 
that  people  who  wanted  potery  ever  bought 
it  from  a  street-corner  stand,  but  from  regular 
potery  peddlers,  who  go  around  to  the  news- 
paper offices  and  magazines  with  it,  done  up 
in  a  small  hand-bag.  So  I  gave  up  the  stand 
and  made  a  small  snatchel- 

"  A  small  what?"  demanded  Mollie. 

"A  small  snatchel,"  repeated  the  Unwise- 
man.  "A  snatchel  is  a  bag  with  a  handle 
to  it." 

"  Oh — I  know.  You  mean  a  satchel,"  said 
Mollie. 

"Maybe  I  do,"  observed  the  Unwiseman. 
"  But  I  thought  the  word  was  snatchel,  be- 
cause it  was  a  thing  you  could  snatch  up 
hurriedly  and  run  to  catch  a  train  with. 
Anyhow,  I  made  one  and  put  some  four  or 
five  pounds  of  potery  in  it,  and  started  out  to 

sell  it.     The  first  place  I  went  to  they  said 

190 


THE   UNWISEMANS   NEW   BUSINESS. 


they  liked  my  potery  very  much,  but  they 
couldn't  use  it  because  it  didn't  advertise 
anything.  They  wanted  sonnets  about  the 
best  kind  of  soap  that  ever  was;  or  what  they 
called  a  hook-and-eye  lyric ;  or  perhaps  a  few 
quatrains  about  baking-powders,  or  tooth- 
wash,  or  some  kind  of  silver-polish.  People 
don't  read  poems  about  mysteries  and  little 
red  school-houses,  and  patriotism  any  more, 
they  said ;  but  if  a  real  poet  should  write 
about  a  new  kind  of  a  clothes-wringer  or 
a  patent  pickle'  he'd  make  a  fortune,  be- 
cause he'd  get  his  work  published  on  fences 
and  in  railroad  cars,  which  everybody  sees, 
instead  of  in  magazines  that  nobody  reads." 

"  I've  seen  lots  of  those  kinds  of  poems," 
said  Mollie. 

"They're  mighty  good  reading,  too,"  said 
Whistlebinkie.  "And  is  that  what  you  are 
going  to  do?" 

"Not  I!"  retorted  the  Unwiseman,  scorn- 
fully. "  No,  indeed,  I'm  not.  Shakespeare 

191 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 


never  did  such  a  thing,  and  I  don't  believe 
Milton  did  either,  and  certainly  I  shall  Yiot 
try  it.  The  next  place  I  went  to  they  said 
they  liked  my  potery  well  enough  to  print  it, 

but  I'd  have  to  pay 
for  having  it  done, 
which     was     very 
hard,     because     I 
hadn't  any  money. 
The      next     place 
they  took  a  sonnet 
and  said  they'd  pay 
for   it   when  they  published  it,  and  when   I 
asked   when   that   would    be,   they   said    in 
about  thirty-seven  years." 
"  Mercy  !"  cried  Mollie. 
"  That's  what  I  said,"  said  the  Unwiseman, 
ruefully.     "  So  again  I  went  on  until  I  found 
an  editor  who  was  a  lovely  man.     He  read 
all  my  things  through,  and  when  he'd  finished 
he  said  he  judged  from   the  quality  of  my 

potery  I  must  be  a  splendid  writer  of  prose." 

192 


"  They'd  pay  for  it  when  they  published  it.' 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   BUSINESS. 

Whistlebinkie  laughed  softly. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  "  that's  what 
he  said.  'Mr.  Unwiseman,'  said  he,  'after 
reading  your  poetry,  it  seems  to  me  your 
forte  is  prose.'  And  I  told  him  perhaps  he 
was  right,  though  I  didn't  know  what  he 
meant.  At  any  rate,  he  was  very  good  to 
me,  and  asked  me  where  I  lived,  and 
all  that.  When  I  told  him  that  I  lived 
everywhere ;  how  I  just  moved  my  house 
around  to  suit  myself,  and  lived  one  day 
here  and  another  day  in  Illinois,  and  an- 
other in  Kamschatka,  he  grew  interested  at 
once." 

"  I  should  think  he  might,"  put  in  Mollie. 
"  I  didn't  know  you  could  move  as  far  as 
Kamschatka." 

"  Certainly  I  can,"  said  the  Unwiseman ; 
"and  in  a  way  that  is  what  I  am  going  to  do. 
I  have  been  engaged  to  travel  in  various 
parts  of  the  world  just  by  moving  my  house 
around  at  will,  and  what  I  see  and  do  under 
13 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

such  circumstances  I  am  to  write  up  for  that 
editor's  paper." 

"  Why  it's  perfectly  splendid  !"  cried  Mol- 
lie,  clapping  her  hands  together  with  glee  at 
the  very  idea.  "  I  wish  I  could  go  with  you.'' 

"  Me  too  !"  whistled  Whistlebinkie. 

"Woof — woof!"  barked  Gyp,  which  the 
Unwiseman  took  to  mean  that  Gyp  wished 
also  to  be  included. 

"All  right,"  said  the  Unwiseman.  "I've 
no  objection." 

"  I  don't  know  what  they'd  say  at  home," 
said  Mollie,  as  she  thought  of  possible  objec- 
tions to  the  trip. 

"Why  they  won't  say  anything,"  said  the 
Unwiseman.  "  I'll  only  travel  afternoons. 
We'll  be  back  every  day  by  six  o'clock,  and 
I  don't  suppose  we'll  start  much  before  three. 
This  house  is  a  rapid  traveller  once  she  gets 
started.  Just  wait  a  minute  and  I'll  show 
you.  Sit  tight  in  your  chairs  now.  One — 

two — three — LET  HER  GO  !" 

194 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   BUSINESS. 


The  old  gentleman 
touched  a  button  in 
the  wall.  The  house 
shook  violently  for 
a  second,  apparently 
whizzed  rapidly 
through  the  air,  if  the 
whistling  of  the  wind 
outside  meant  any- 
thing, and  then  sud- 
denly, with  a  thump 
and  a  bump,  came  to 
a  standstill. 

"  Here  we  are," 
said  the  Unwiseman, 
opening  the  door. 
"  Come  outside." 

The  little  party 
emerged,  and  Mol- 
lie  was  amazed  to 
find  herself  standing 
on  the  top  of  a  won- 


The  house  whizzed  rapidly  through 
the  air." 


195 


MOLLIE   AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

derful  hill  gazing  out  over  the  waters  of  a 
beautiful  body  of  water  of  the  most  heavenly 
blue.  At  her  feet  a  little  yellowish  city 
nestled  into  the  hillside,  and  across  a  strip 
of  silvery  water  was  a  huge  and  frowning 
fortress. 

"This,  Miss  Whistlebinkie,  is  the  city  of 
Havana,"  said  the  Unwiseman  to  the  aston- 
ished little  maid.  "  You  have  come  all  the 
way  from  home  to  Cuba  in  five  seconds — a 
distance  of  1200  miles.  So  you  see  we  can 
do  all  our  travelling  in  the  afternoons,  and 
without  your  being  away  from  your  home 
any  more  than  you  naturally  are  during  your 
play-time  hours." 

Mollie  made  no  answer  for  a  moment. 
She  was  too  astonished  to  speak.  Whistle- 
binkie was  the  first  to  recover,  and  he  was 
not  long  in  expressing  his  sentiments. 

"Imagoin',"  he  whistled. 

Gyp  barked  a  similar  resolution,  whereupon 

Mollie  said  she'd  see. 

196 


THE   UNWISEMAN'S   NEW   BUSINESS. 


"But  let  us  hurry  back  home  again,"  she 
added,  somewhat  anxiously.  She  did  not 
quite  like  being  so  far  away  from  home  with- 
out her  mother  knowing  it. 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  Unwiseman,  touching 
the  button  again.  The  violent  shaking  and 
whizzing  sounds  were  repeated,  and  again, 
with  a  thump  and  a  bump,  the  house  came 
to  a  standstill.  The  Unwiseman  opened  the 
front  door,  and  there  they  were,  safe  and 
sound,  in  the  back  yard  of  Mollie's  home. 

That  night  the  little  girl  told  the  story  of 
the  day's  adventure  to  her  father,  and  he  said 
that,  under  the  circumstances,  he  had  not  the 
slightest  objection  to  her  making  the  grand 
tour  of  the  world. 

"Only,"  he  said,  uyou  must  remember, 
dear,  to  be  home  to  supper.  Even  if  you 
find  yourself  at  the  coronation  of  a  king, 
remember  that  it  is  your  duty  to  be  punctual 
at  your  meals.  London,  Paris,  Pekin,  or 

Kalamazoo   are   always    ready   to   be   seen, 

197 


MOLLIE  AND   THE   UNWISEMAN. 

night  or  day,  no  matter  what  the  time,  but 
breakfast,  dinner,  and  supper  do  not  go  on 
forever,  and  are  served  only  at  stated 
hours." 

And  so  Mollie  and  Gyp  and  Whistlebinkie 
joined  in  the  adventures  of  the  UNWISEMAN 
ABROAD,  and,  in  point  of  fact,  they  started 
off  that  very  afternoon,  though  what  they 
saw  I  do  not  know,  for  I  have  not  encoun- 
tered them  since.  I  only  know  that  their 
journey  was  safely  accomplished,  and  that 
they  all  got  home  that  night  without  harm, 
for  Mollie's  papa  told  me  so.  He  also  told 
me,  in  confidence,  that  I  might  hope  soon  to 
hear  some  remarkable  tales  on  the  subject  of 
their  adventures ;  and  if  I  do,  I  shall  not  fail 
to  let  you  in  turn  hear  what  happened  to 
"  MOLLIE  AND  THE  UNWISEMAN  ABROAD." 


198 


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